Happy Days in Hell
by enahma
Summary: First part of the complete HDH trilogy. Post GoF. A tale about a captivity which brings two unlikely persons closer - much closer. Not a slash story. Currently re-edited.
1. The Bastards' Game

**Happy Days in Hell**

by Enahma

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**Category**: Drama/Angst, Friendship/Family later

**Rated**: T

**Pairing(s)**: none that I'm aware of

**Spoilers**: written pre-OotP, so from the first four books only, AU as for the other books, though certain aspects of OotP were included into the later parts

**Beta**: Ty Rose – she morphed this awkwardly worded, limping text into a real story, many-many thanks to her!

**Author's notes**: this is a re-edited version of my story written way before OotP came out, so in a way it is extremely AU. My beta and I are currently working on its text to morph it into an enjoyable read, and in the beginning of every chapter, I will note if it is already re-edited. The non-edited chapters can be still awkward and grammatically problematic, but I hope by the end of this fall, the editing process will be done.

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**Chapter 1 - The Bastards' Game**

It was too quiet.

Great walls of stone loomed over the grounds, dark windows presiding over the woods like austere sentinels. A tall black gate stood ominously like a stark nightmare against worn stone…Nightmare Manor oozed a malevolent aura that crept bone-deep to anyone who suffered the misfortune of standing in its shadow. The very air crackled forebodingly. Every tree that dotted the grounds was twisted and scarred with Dark Magic; sinister shadows ran between them like nebulous pools of ink.

Or like black pools of blood, Severus reflected.

He eyed the gate darkly. He mused, not for the first time, that those gates could have been made from dementors; to be welcomed through, he thought despondently, you had to forfeit your soul.

Surprise had washed over Severus when he had Apparated before the gates to the Dark Lord's nearly-empty circle. Despite having to leave the Hogwarts' Anti-Apparition Wards before Disapparating, he was one of the first Death Eaters to arrive that afternoon.

Avery and Rome were already in place. Rome, a young man from France, was a new disciple of what _he_ liked to call the 'Dark Arts.' Severus sneered; all of their soulless terrorising and massacring was leagues away from anything that could ever be considered 'Art.' He had never thought of Dark Magic as _Art – _not even in the very beginning, when he was still foolishly idealistic and much less sensible… if there had ever really been a beginning to this madness. From his early childhood, Dark Magic had been a constant in his life; like most of his family, he had been drawn almost irresistibly to the darker side of magic. The Snapes were well-known revellers in Dark Magic. All save Quietus, who… _No_. His heart gave a painful squeeze, and only long practice kept his breathing steady. He did not want to think of _him_. Not here. Not _now_.

Suddenly, he heard a couple of cracks and spotted the cloaks of other Death Eaters among the trees populating the forest adjacent Nightmare Manor. A Death Eater with white-blond hair arrived, and sidled up to him. Severus gave the man a curt nod, and Malfoy inclined his head in return.

He needed to figure out why he had been summoned again so soon; only yesterday evening he had received the list of the potions he had to prepare for the coming weeks. This meeting had to be apropos of something darker and more horrible than the usual tormenting brews. He suppressed a shudder.

A triple 'Crack!' added three more servants to their number. He recognized Nott and Goyle, but the third man was a mystery to him. Severus hadn't noted the man's broad but short build in the inner circle before. The Death Eaters shifted uneasily as they waited for their Lord; Severus has little doubt that the Manor's ominous presentation was not only for prisoners' benefit.

Being a Death Eater meant that he never knew where he would Apparate to when the Dark Mark burned. When he felt the summoning, he would Disapparate and appear where the Dark Lord directed, destination unknown; this safeguarded the Dark Lord against the occasional spies among his followers, for the position of the meeting points could not be passed on to authorities – the Ministry or Dumbledore. This afternoon the meeting point was Nightmare Manor, one of Voldemort's most hidden domiciles…

And his most terrifying.

Severus did not know where Nightmare Manor was situated, although he had been here on many occasions. Over the last fourteen years, both he and Dumbledore had searched for the Manor desperately…and unsuccessfully. Nightmare Manor was and had been the Dark Lord's main prison. All of the enemies he did not want to kill immediately were brought here for his sadistic entertainment.

Severus was sure that after the infant Potter had defeated the Dark Lord fourteen years ago, many people had died in Nightmare Manor, even without the Death Eaters' tender mercies; prisoners had been left behind because nobody was able to find the place.

The place of fear, pain, screaming, crying, trembling and dying. The place of humanity's most dreadful tortures.

He hated this place. He hated it from the bottom of his heart, hated it more than any other place. He loathed it more than the ministry's dungeons – the place of the 'Light' tormenting – abhorred it more than... but he stopped himself. Those were dangerous waters.

All in all, this summoning probably meant that the meeting would be for the Dark Lord's entertainment, and Severus hoped vehemently that he would be able to slip away before it began. He would rather adopt the Potter brat than torment yet another unfortunate soul. He detested these occasions; they were repugnant and disgusting, and left him feeling irredeemably contaminated. Fortunately, he was not usually compelled to participate. The Dark Lord valued his ability to spy on Dumbledore over his apparent penchant for torture, and Severus was all too glad to let the Dark Lord believe that if Dumbledore cast Priori Incantatem on his wand, a plethora of torturing spells would give away his true allegiances.

Still, there were times when the Dark Lord compelled him to join to these "games." Voldemort occasionally tested his followers' loyalty through torture… torture of a more innocent victim, or of his followers themselves. Severus's loyalty, however, had been already tested (he did not allow himself to remember _that_test), so today, most likely, he would have to face an important enemy of the dark side. But who could be so important for the Dark Lord to summon all of his most trusted? He had to warn Dumbledore as soon as he could get back to Hogwarts.

Severus idly kept track of his comrades as they arrived – it was soon apparent that the Dark Lord's inner circle had grown. There were more than a handful of people he did not recognise. In another ten minutes, silent save for the uneasy rustling of thick, black robes, the full inner circle was present. Everybody stood in their place waiting for the Dark Lord to invite them into the Manor. Letting his gaze sweep across the gathered Death Eaters, Severus could not imagine any enemy so important. Perhaps Dumbledore? But that was impossible. When he had left Hogwarts, Dumbledore had been there still, unharmed. Who else then? The idiot Fudge? Or some important Auror? Moody perhaps?

Oh, _that_ would be fun. He _would_ indeed be able to cast a couple of nasty spells on the man. He bared his teeth behind his mask, just thinking of what Moody had done to him: the Ministry's trials; Moody's 'Light Arts' torture sessions; the forced Veritaserum; the Tormenta curse (the Light version of Cruciatus – forgivable, but cast by an experienced hand, no better than its Unforgivable twin, the Cruciatus Curse) thrown on him again and again and _again_ because he had not been a man, just a filthy Death Eater… Those days and nights when he was denied sleep in an effort to break him––and after that, the six months in Azkaban… Six! It had felt like a lifetime. He had not been able to feel anything since then. _Nothing_. His feelings had left him there, perhaps forever. And it was all Moody's doing. The old, paranoid bastard. He shuddered inwardly. If the new prisoner was indeed Moody, he would not show mercy. No. _Never_.

When he had seen the man last September limping into the Great Hall, he had felt sick. For Albus to be so heartless as to allow the Auror into the same building as him!

He forced down another shudder. Well, in the end, it had turned out to be Barty and not the old bastard. Yes, bastard too, but not old. A young and dark-versioned bastard, now worse than dead. Kissed by a Dementor. Ugly way to die.

Bastards: he was now waiting for the Greatest Bastard of the present world to introduce his new captive to his loyal servants… _bastard_-servants.

Yes, he was a bastard too. Everybody on this bloody earth was a bastard, except for Dumbledore.

He bullied his brain back to the present, trying and failing to identify the Death Eaters who had arrived last. So, let the Bastards' Game begin!

xxx

At that moment, Voldemort stepped through the gates of the Manor and approached his patiently waiting servants.

"Come. Join me in the Main Hall," he purred sibilantly. Even kept low, his voice carried over the waiting crowd. "Our _esteemed guest_ is waiting!"

Something in the air was so cold... Severus pulled his cloak tighter around himself, and let a shiver escape. The towering, black gates of the Manor were like an enormous mouth opened wide, swallowing everything and everyone entering them. Severus wanted to be at the castle. Or at home. Or anywhere but here.

Their expressionless masks flickered in the torchlight as they finally entered the Main Hall.

In the centre of the immense room was a child. Quite a small child at that, with thin, messy dark hair, and round glasses.

Severus almost froze in the doorway.

No. Not a child. Not again. It was different to torture a child in classes, with words, sarcasm, detentions, taking off house points. But physical torture made his stomach churn in unease, and he had to struggle against memories assaulting his mind.

He realised in an instant that all the others were already standing in a semi-circle around the boy; he was the only one missing, still rooted on the spot. He sighed deeply and approached the circle with steadied steps. As he slid into his place, the boy lifted his head.

Snape froze again.

No. It could not be true!

The boy was Harry Potter.

xxx

Damn it!

Why?

_How?_

Damn it! Damn it, damn it…What the hell was the boy doing here? He should be at home, tucked away with his family watching the telly, or playing idiot games with his friends, or anything but this. He stared at the brat in total disbelief, disjointed thoughts racing through his mind.

He wanted to wake up in his dungeons to a glass of brandy. Or Firewhisky. A glass? No, not enough. He would drink the whole _bottle_!

But his body did not want to wake.

For an instant, he thought the boy recognised him, as their eyes locked. But after a moment, the boy turned his face to Voldemort.

He did not understand what happened. The boy had been captured by the Dark Lord or by his Death Eaters, that was clear. But how? When? How could Dumbledore be unaware?

And what could _he_ do? How could he help the boy to escape? Nightmare Manor was protected by Anti-Apparition wards, just like Hogwarts. He could not simply grab the boy and Disapparate. It was impossible. Still, he had to save the sorry life of this foolish child who managed to get mixed up – _again_ – in an impossible situation.

He choked on a sigh. Whatever he did, his days as a spy would be over. This thought caused a sudden, great relief. He felt free. But what could he do with this newly found freedom, trapped in this damned nightmare? There was no hope for them.

Perhaps he would let the boy be tortured and killed. If he tried to solve this mess, they would simply die together. If he did nothing, he could retain his role and help the Light Side and Dumbledore.

He felt the muscles of his jaw twitch, and forced himself to take a slow, calming breath.

Then again, he could not believe there would be any hope for the Light Side if Potter died. _No_, Severus grimaced inwardly, _Potter must live_. There was Lily, and his oath to her... and to Quietus's name. That meant he had to help the little bastard. Yes. Potter was a bastard too, because he got himself involved in this damned, bloody situation. It had been hard enough to keep up the façade of a loyal Death Eater without troubling his conscience too much, and now... But that line of thoughts was useless. He had to find a way out. His eyes began to roam over the Hall: the doors, the windows.

There was no escape.

He knew the building quite well; he even had a basic lab there, not in the dungeons but on the third floor––here the dungeons were the prison.

The prison. The most horrible prison in the world – or at least one of them. Cells and chambers of endless pain. He knew them. He knew what an imprisoned person looked like after some weeks spent in there. Life in this prison was like an extended Cruciatus; if the Dark Lord wanted to torment somebody for months, he could. He _did._ He liked breaking people before killing them and gave no thought to time. The Dark Lord always seemed to have lots of time.

But how could he rescue Potter from this damned building?

Severus's mind snapped back to the Circle when he realised that Voldemort was speaking.

"Welcome, my most loyal servants, on this auspicious day." The Dark Lord _happy_ struck fear into the most stoic heart; now, he was ecstatic. His voice was laced with naked triumph. "We are joined today by a most _honoured _guest: Harry Potter." The words sounded like poison dripping from Voldemort's tongue. Severus clenched his jaw shut. A murmur rose through the gathered Death Eaters, and those who had not recognised the celebrity in their midst strained to get a better look. The Dark Lord's missive seemed like permission to gawk at the boy.

The boy's legs were bound. He could not run away as he did in the graveyard a month ago when he had escaped the Dark Lord after his 'resurrection.' His wand was missing, too. It looked like the boy's infernal luck had finally run out.

Snape was grudgingly impressed with the boy, despite his initial shock; he did not see mindless terror in the boy's eyes. He did not see panic. Potter was just standing there, like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered, accepting whatever his future held. Potter's eyes, locked on his again, betrayed only the smallest hint of fear.

Resignation, There was only resignation in those green eyes… nothing more. Resignation like in those _black _eyes... Just resignation.

It was the same expression. But how? How could this pair of _green_ eyes feel identical to that pair of _black_? Their expressions _were_ identical.

The boy just felt resignation.

The resemblance... standing in this dark circle without terror, looking at him with pain caused not by torture but by disappointment... and Snape wanted to scream as he remembered somebody else.

A boy standing in the very same place, in the centre of the circle without terror or weakness. Just in pain... like it was so long ago... but it was so clear... those _black_ eyes... He could never forget them.

But the Greatest Bastard was still speaking.

"You have three rounds of fun with him. After that, I will kill him. I, alone. Be careful with my prize," said the Dark Lord, smirking in satisfaction.

'_Three rounds. It is at least two hours as I know them,_' Snape thought. He saw Voldemort drawing back to sit on his dark throne-like chair.

"Let the show begin!" he called to his Death Eaters.

And the show began.

xxx

Outwardly calm, Severus felt his pulse quicken. Beads of sweat burst onto his brow. He desperately needed to find a way to save the boy, but as the minutes flew by, he only grew more and more tense. There was no way out. The windows were too high, the building was guarded by Anti-Apparation wards, if they wanted to escape, they should get out of the building and the specially guarded gates. Impossible. He could not do that alone, not to mention with Potter. And there were too many of his ex-colleagues. And he had no emergency portkey, Voldemort's wards recognised portkeys, and to bring such a device to a Death Eater meeting meant death. The boy would die, and with any attempted rescue, he would die too. The temptation came again: he could let the boy die. He had no other real choice anyway; the boy would be killed regardless. Why should he be exposed and killed for naught? Dumbledore and the Order needed him.

Frustration lanced through him. They needed the boy as well. And he took an oath to _that damned girl_!

He wouldn't have believed real life could be worse than the nightmares he had had to face almost every night for the last two decades, yet here he was, living a nightmare worse than any he had dreamed.

His eyes burned as shining rivulets of salt slid down his brow. He tried to squash his impulse to blink furiously. It wasn't the first time he'd found himself grateful for this bloody mask. He was almost shaking as he watched the show. Many shouts in Latin: _Seco! Frango! Contundo! Flagello! Diffringo! Uro!_ Glee on one end of the wand, suffering on the other.

Potter screamed, and writhed, and jerked, and shrieked, and winced. He had only short respites between torments, where one finished and another began. His pain-filled voice seemed to echo through the entire building. This was just the first round... and there would be the second, the round of physical abuse. The thought made Snape sick.

His turn was near. His turn to torture the brat he had hated for years, the brat he had humiliated, ridiculed and shamed before his mates. The brat he had tried to get expelled in every way.

The boy he had protected without thinking, the boy he had helped to survive every year in that damned school simply because he was the boy he had sworn to care for. It perhaps hadn't been the most willingly given care, but it was the best care he could afford.

When his turn arrived, he realised he was petrified, unable to lift his wand, to speak, to open his mouth. Unable to move. To breathe.

The boy lay on the floor bleeding. Suffering. Still, he did not beg. He did not plead for mercy. He seemed exhausted, but he was not broken. Severus realized, quite against his will, that he felt respect for the boy. At first, he had been sure that Potter would be easy to break. He was just a fifteen year old boy, wasn't he? Boys of that age were expected to break, to give up, weren't they? And yet, Potter was not broken. At least not yet. And his gaze…The Potions Master shuddered. This gaze was again too familiar. He _had_ seen that gaze years before... He had to get a grip on his emotions before tears betrayed him.

What was he supposed to do now? He desperately needed time. If he really intended to figure out something, he had to curse Potter. Immediately.

Snape turned his head away from the boy, and whispered a "_Tormento_" pointing his wand at the boy.

"Light curses," Voldemort laughed, the genuine mirth looking foreign on his face. The Dark Lord nodded his approval in Severus's direction. "Let's show Mr Potter what the Light Side's Torment Sessions feel like!"

Severus felt a rush of self-loathing. His feelings of shame and regret almost suffocated him.

The screams of the boy filled the Hall, again and again. No, he would not do this for the second round. _Could_ not. Impossible.

He knew precisely what kind of pain racked the boy's body.

As he lowered his wand, the screaming stopped. He turned his head back to the boy, and their gazes locked again. And the damned brat nodded.

Severus's heart sank. Now, he was absolutely sure the boy had recognised him. He felt his gorge rise at this realisation; he felt dizzy and nauseous. Without knowing why, he did _not _want the brat to die thinking that Severus had betrayed him. At some point during the torment and screaming his hatred had dissipated.

He, too, wanted to scream aloud as the torture went on.

The second round... whips and kicks and fists…. After the first ten Death Eaters had played their game, the boy was barely recognisable. Bruises, wounds, blood, broken bones - only the green gaze locked into his black after every turn showed him that the boy was still conscious, still alive. Why did Potter suffer the same as that black-eyed boy so long ago? Why?

Why did the boy look into his eyes again and again? He was not pleading for mercy, for pity, for care. But his eyes always returned to Severus's.

Everything in Severus was screaming for this whole Bastard's Game to end. He wanted to go home, to lock himself into his rooms and drink whisky until he passed out, and to sleep, and _sleep_, and not to wake up ever again. Ever.

He wanted to run away. But... but.

What would he say to Dumbledore? How could he enter his office to tell the Headmaster the truth? '_Sorry, but Potter died, and I tormented him before it, though I used only forgivable, light-sided curses, like Tormenta_'?

How could he continue his life if he participated in this torture – in killing children, _again_? How could he teach other children? He had always been terrible – an insufferable, mean git, and a real monster – but at least _human_. If Potter died with his active assistance, and without a real effort from him to help, he would be thousand times less than the lowest creature. How could he teach Weasley and Granger? How could he ever look them in the eyes? And what would the broken oath do to _him_? Would he be able to sleep afterwards? To _eat_? To _breathe_? To _think_?

A sharp _CRACK!_ rent the air, mingled with a strangled sob. He wondered that Potter had anything left to break, even as he struggled not to turn away from him.

He could never escape from his past. Almost twenty years were not enough to repent for what he had done before. If he let Potter be killed now, he would never be able to survive. He was sure.

It was his turn again. The brat, the insufferable, damned brat was again searching for his gaze, even though his eyes were so blackened and swollen Severus was not sure Potter was able to see through them.

He lowered his head and took a tiny bottle out of his pocket. Fortunately, he was not expected to use his physical strength or some tool for physical abuse. Rather, he was expected to show them an interesting potion; for this _auspicious_ occasion (Severus grimaced inwardly, stifling a snort), it had to be something spectacular. Like many others before, this was a show directed and enjoyed by the Dark Lord himself. The Bastards' Game. And the Dark Lord wanted to see pain.

For an instant, Severus thought he would drink the potion himself rather than giving it to Potter. It was a new and immensely painful brew. He always carried torturing potions with himself for occasions like this. He had never meant the boy to suffer by his hand, but he needed the time this potion could afford him.

He stepped to the boy, kneeled, and opened Potter's mouth with his left hand. With his right, he hastily poured the contents of the vial into the boy's mouth, forced him to swallow, and stepped back into his place in the circle.

For a moment, there was deep silence. The next instant, the boy's eyes widened at the extreme new level of pain and he began to scream so loudly that even the most indomitable Death Eaters had the urge to cover their ears.

The Bone Game Potion. In that moment Severus loathed himself more than ever before – and he had loathed himself deeply for quite a while.

The Bone Game Potion was a perfect part of the Bastard's Game. It crushed all of the victim's bones into tiny pieces, causing insufferable pain with every little movement –like breathing– and afterwards, returned them to their normal state with the pain of an especially painful and rapid Skele-Gro Potion. It didn't cause any irreparable harm, but it was as painful as the Cruciatus.

Severus Snape did know. He had tested it himself.

The boy would never trust him again, not that there would be time to forgive and forget, or for apologies. Potter would die. And he, Severus Nobilus Snape, would die with him. He saw no way out, however attentively he waited for a moment of slackness in the Dark Lord's and the others' guard. As the screaming halted in the hall, the boy's eyes remained firmly shut. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest showed he was still alive.

"Wonderful, Professor, I _am_ amazed!" The Dark Lord's eyes glittered like a hungry snake presented with a fat rodent. "I can't believe your imagination is still so fresh after those years you spent with that Muggle-loving old fool."

For a short instant, Severus was sure he would point his wand at the bastard and kill him immediately, but before he could move his hand towards his belt, the show went on. He ignored the calculating looks that a few of the circle tried to pierce him with.

The third round arrived… and Severus still did not know how to save the torn child from the situation.

While he tried to plan the boy's escape, he still had to think about another curse for the tormenting session. The Dark Lord would punish him with a well-pronounced Cruciatus if he used the same curse again. But what could he use? Perhaps the Knife Curse? It was excruciating, but its effects were short-lived. Ten seconds, little more. Twenty, at the very most.

As the last cry that was ripped from the boy faded to dry sobs, it was Severus's turn again.

"_Culter_," he said turning his gaze again from the boy, trying and failing to keep his wand steady.

The screaming was shriller and fiercer than before. It lasted for almost a minute. But how? Severus attempted to stop the curse but the screaming did not stop. Finally he recalled that the Knife Curse together with the Bone-breaking Curse Nott had used interacted to cause hours of serious after-effects. Shame crawled through his veins like acid. Some qualified wizard he was! Guilt felt as if it was eating his insides.

"Severus! You are _really_ excellent today," he heard the Dark Lord's words through the agonized screeching. "Better than ever before."

He nodded as he stared at the small, writhing body in front of him.

Abruptly, the boy's voice quieted. Potter did not move.

'Oh, no,' whispered Snape, as the next Death Eater lifted his wand.

"Stop!" Voldemort hissed. "_I_ want to kill him," He glided to his feet and stepped forward.

In that moment, Severus was absolutely desperate. Voldemort would kill the boy, he knew, and he just could not stand idly by let him. A last glance confirmed there was no way to flee, so only one option remained. He prepared himself.

The Dark Lord stood over to the lifeless body and with a kick turned Potter onto his back.

"_Ennervate_," he pointed his wand to the boy.

Potter did not move. Snape froze. Did he kill Potter? Impossible. The oath would surely kill _him_, then.

"I know that you are conscious, Harry," Voldemort said in a cold, ruthless voice. "And I want to talk with you before I kill you."

The boy opened his eyes. Snape felt a momentary relief. Potter was alive!

"But I do _not _want to listen to you, Tom. I don't care what you want to say. Kill me, and finish this show."

Severus could hardly hear the boy's words. Potter's voice was totally hoarse after two hours of screaming. _It_ was weak. But _he_ was not!

"As you wish," Voldemort smirked, and lifted his wand. _Now!_ Snape thought.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" he roared, pointing his wand at the Dark Lord, and charging over to the boy to help him up as fast as he could.

But the curse was blocked by the Dark Lord, and the next moment Snape lay on the floor, Stupefied by his ex-fellows.

"Professor Snape! What an _expected_ surprise!' the Dark Lord smirked viciously with an inhuman twinkle in his eyes. "Finally, I have found the leak––_you,_ as I suspected. Didn't I, Lucius?"

One of the Death Eaters nodded, and Voldemort went on.

"I suspected it was you––you, faithful servant of the mudblood-lover Dumbledore, the short-sighted follower of the Light Side, despite a little torture by the Aurors and six months in Azkaban… I can't understand it," the Dark Lord cocked his head to one side, and lifted his gaze in thought. "You were always so strong; and yet, you betrayed me. Today, for a short time, I believed I had been wrong. Those curses! That potion! Have you enjoyed them, Potter?" he turned his eyes to the boy.

Potter did not seem to hear the Dark Lord's words and as the Potions Master looked at the boy, their gazes locked. The man felt a sudden urge to say something to the boy before dying. He reached his hand to his face and slid off his mask. They stared at each other without a sound besides the boy's harsh breathing for a long moment. Severus heard the Dark Lord's words but didn't try to understand them.

He just watched the boy whose eyes shone with pain.

The boy would die. And he would die alongside with Potter, with The-Boy-He-Hated-For-Long-Years. Now, he couldn't understand his previous feelings. Why had he hated Potter, _how_ could he hate _this_ boy? How could he be such a stubborn, bloody idiot and hate this boy just because of some stolid pranks his father and his mates played ages ago? His _dead_ father. Who had saved his, Severus's, life, at that. Well, that had been a self-serving action too, but regardless, James Potter _had_ saved his life. How could he be so blinded by prejudice? He was lost in his own unanswered questions.

He was staring at the boy – the torn, dying boy – and felt ashamed. Tormenting curses… Bone Game Potion... and he could still see no hate burning in Potter's eyes. The boy seemed to accept Severus as he accepted his fate… his impending death.

Severus could not help but reach out his hand and carefully stroke the boy's face.

"Sorry…" he said.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment.

"Thank you," he muttered.

Thin cords shot from the Dark Lord's wand, and the next moment Snape was bound beneath a glare that could have stripped flesh from bone.

"Severus, your time is over. It is your turn again, Mr. Potter," the Dark Lord said and bit out another command. "_Erecto._"

The next moment Harry stood on his feet, albeit dizzily, face-to-face with Voldemort.

xxx

Snape just stared at the boy who was standing calmly in front of his enemy. Voldemort's face was a mask of rage as he examined the young man standing before him without terror, grovelling, or pleading for mercy. Without showing weakness!

Yes, the boy was not broken. He may have been tortured, but his soul had remained his own as he had accepted the fact that he was going to die.

Snape, again, felt ashamed. The boy was very brave. As brave as his father had been. As brave as _that_ black-eyed boy, who had stood in the very same place. Braver than he had ever been at Potter's age.

"Kill me now, Tom" Potter said suddenly in a stern, but quiet voice. "You can finally finish the job you failed fourteen years ago. Now, there isn't any weak muggleborn woman to stop you."

Silence fell in the hall. The wrath of the Dark Lord became almost tangible in the air, but the boy did not seem to care.

Then Voldemort suddenly calmed himself. Severus's mouth went dry and he fought the urge to cringe. An evil grin stretched across the Dark Lord's face.

"Very brave, Mr. Potter. Very Gryffindor of you. But I've… reconsidered. I won't kill you. Not now, at least. No, I find myself taken with another idea; I have another way for you to die. A protracted death. I have time. I'll wait for you to beg. Or... perhaps I will give you another choice, the choice to live and serve me. I'll give you the time and the chance to think about it. And naturally I will... _help_ you in to reach the right decision…in my own way."

"I will never trade my soul, Tom," Potter answered firmly. But Voldemort did not seem fazed.

"We'll see, Mr. Potter," he turned around abruptly to glare at Snape. "And what shall I do with you, my dear professor? If I remember correctly, you are not as brave as this young man next to you, are you? So what about joining him for a while? Two or three weeks, perhaps? It depends on... ah, but I won't spoil the surprise for dear Mr. Potter. Perhaps you can show the boy the real wisdom of giving up."

Snape's eyes widened.

"The dungeons..."

"Precisely, Professor. And" he lifted his gaze to his followers "I think we can begin, but be careful! Do not to kill them. Not until I give you permission," Voldemort smirked and turned away in a cloud of robes, leaving the room.

Eyes sharpened and shone with a fervid light behind blank masks - the hall was instantly full of predators, all fixated on their cornered prey. The circle of Death Eaters tightened around them. The boy collapsed next to Severus as the _Erecto_ spell faded, but he was bound too tightly to catch Potter. Lying with the boy in a heap on the floor, Snape knew this was only the beginning.

When the bindings were removed, he checked Potter. The boy was unconscious again. This would be his turn then. Probably longer and more vicious than the boy's had been. He _was_ a traitor, after all.

Unfortunately, it took a full hour and a half to lose consciousness. His erstwhile comrades made sure of it.

xxx

"Vernon, the boy hasn't arrived yet!" Petunia screeched nervously at her husband.

They were watching the telly after dinner.

"Ummm..." Vernon muttered, his eyes fixed on the screen.

"Vernon!" Petunia repeated.

"Well... what am I supposed to do then? He will be back by midnight, I am sure. He is just ashamed," Vernon responded calmly. "Or his freak friends took him away again. Fortunately. Oh, look at that dog!" he pointed abruptly at the screen. "It's just like Marge's!"

Petunia shuddered. She hated animals, especially Marge's ugly old brute. And she was worried.

"Vernon, every time they took him they informed us... somehow. But today... It's already close to midnight and..."

"And...?" colour rose in Vernon's neck as frustration crept through his multiple chins. He was not interested in the boy's ruddy disappearance. "If he wanted to go away, good riddance. And I want to watch the movie."

"But we are his guardians, Vernon. If anything happens to him, they'll come to _us_!" she cried the last word loudly.

Vernon jerked, and sighed, stroking crumbs off of his belly.

"Right. But I don't want to look for him all over the city. You can do that if you want, but I won't!"

"I think we should call the police," Petunia whispered.

"Oh! A good idea!" said Vernon with a malicious grin. "I hope if they find him, they'll keep him for a couple of days, don't you think?"

"I don't know," she answered hesitantly.

"What's the matter?" Vernon asked suddenly as he noticed Petunia's vacillating tone.

"I don't know," she repeated, but after a while she added. "I have a very strange feeling. A very _bad_ feeling, rather... I've felt it once, long ago..."

Vernon stared at her. Petunia was quite agitated. Her hands were shaking, her face pale.

"What... are you all right?" Vernon asked reluctantly.

Petunia shook her head.

"No, something bad has happened. Something like the day I first went to the cinema with you..."

Vernon cleared his throat, but his voice trembled as he managed to speak.

"Do you... do you think that...?"

Petunia nodded.

Silence fell in the room. They stared at each other in horror. Finally, Vernon stood up.

"I will call the police. Now."


	2. Awakening in Hell

_This chapter is re-edited**  
**_

* * *

_**Chapter 2 - Awakening in Hell**_

Harry swam through a clinging haze of agony to consciousness. He opened his eyes. The second thing he was aware of was his cheek pressed against cold stone in what appeared to be a dimly lit cell.

The first was unfathomable pain.

He tried to move, and immediately regretted it. Sudden, almost unbearable agony tore through him and Harry struggled not to cry out. Every inch of his body throbbed. The misery was bewildering. Blinking away tears, he struggled to _remember_. Where was he? Why was he in pain?

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Slowly, memories of the previous afternoon began to filter through in his mind. He could remember vague pictures of the events - 'the show,' Voldemort had called it. Harry winced at the recollection; like one of Dudley's films, memories of mindless torture flickered before his eyes, assaulting him. He was in captivity, anticipating little more than horror and pain, he was certain.

The thought twisted his stomach in knots. Torture… again? The day before had pushed him to the end of his endurance. He was firmly convinced he wouldn't be able to suffer through any more abuse; he'd do whatever Voldemort wanted, if only he could die in peace. He wouldn't be able to escape this time; he had, apparently, used up his luck on his previous life-or-death struggles. This time, his body was torn and exhausted, and his soul was hopeless. Voldemort didn't know yet, Harry thought, but he'd won the game.

Torch light flickered weakly against the inside of his eyelids, painting his world red. Even his throat was raw, whether from the screaming or the tortures themselves he didn't know. His mouth felt thick. The metallic smells of blood and decay seemed to envelop him, and he shivered against the encroaching damp.

It was his own fault, he realized. If he hadn't run away from the Dursleys, he wouldn't have been caught by the Death Eaters watching the house. He'd _known_ Voldemort was aware of where he spent his summers; he'd dangled that bit of information in front of him in Little Hangleton in another attempt to torment him. Voldemort couldn't reach him while he was under the protection of his relatives, but when he ran away from the Dursleys he'd run away from Dumbledore's strongest safeguard. He should have_ known_ there'd be someone watching for him to leave the wards.

Then he'd been brought here.

Dudley had started it all. When he started in on Lily Evans, calling her a freak and saying that the only reason Harry's Dad had married his Mum was because he'd gotten her pregnant, Harry's already-fragile control on his temper snapped. Harry punched the first part of Dudley he could reach.

His face.

There had been an explosive fight, but Dudley had the advantages of weight and height. In the end, Uncle Vernon had come to help Dudley, too. His uncle had tried to punish him for the fight, but after the first slap, Harry'd stormed out of the house and run away.

He hadn't been able to run far; he'd found himself surrounded by three Death Eaters almost immediately. Unfortunately, he'd left his wand in his bedroom, safely stowed in his trunk. He hadn't been able to defend himself. He just stood there impotently, horrified by this consequence of his impulsiveness, while the three men had taken him to this mansion they called Nightmare Manor. After yesterday, he understood the name perfectly.

He would die here, in Nightmare Manor. Alone.

Harry's mind rebelled at the thought. He wanted to survive, to live! He wanted to meet his friends, to eat meals in the Great Hall, to drink butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade... to play Quidditch and see the next World Cup, and perhaps become a professional seeker on his National Team.

He longed for detentions with Filch or even Potions classes with Snape... he longed for simple humiliation without pain, blood and sweat.

He was still alive, he thought fiercely, and suddenly he decided not to give up. He _had _to believe there was a way out of this damned place. He _had _to be strong.

With this decision in his mind, Harry gritted his teeth against the pain still threatening to overwhelm him and forced his eyes open again. He tried to look around at the space he'd been imprisoned in, but he couldn't move his head. His neck was hurting and, for an incredibly long moment, he was scared that something irreversible had happened to his spine. He wondered if it mattered. He would die here anyway, and if his spine was broken his agony would be shorter and almost painless... but his aching body told him that his spine was all right enough – at least for now.

Harry's thoughts turned to the last day's events again. The Death Eaters and Voldemort... he remembered them filing silently into the room beneath flickering torches. It had been like a scene in a staged play, until one Death Eater ruined the order.

As soon as he'd seen the line of dark robes, he'd been quite sure Professor Snape would be among them, although he couldn't explain why. He'd suspected Snape was a spy for Dumbledore; his presence was assumed. While the Death Eaters arranged themselves around the room, he'd wondered if Voldemort had accepted the professor's recompense. The Dark Lord wasn't at all stupid; it must have been quite a convincing apology.

He didn't want to think what the man might have done to prove his loyalty. Harry was pretty certain he'd recognized the frozen figure his eyes had caught in the doorway. As the man finally managed to join the circle, his menacing, predatory stalk confirmed his identity. His hood had been lowered; he'd recognize the Potion Master's oily locks anywhere.

He'd realized then the professor hadn't known Harry'd recognized him.

He had not been a little stunned by the professor's transparent behaviour. Well, he hadn't thought Snape wanted him dead – (just expelled - Snape couldn't have known that, for Harry, expelling and killing might as well be the same thing) – but the clear concern and fear he thought he sensed in the man's demeanor had shocked him.

In that moment, he had realized one more thing: his carelessness would probably have another victim… the professor. Harry hadn't wanted it. He might have hated Snape, but he hated him alive. He hadn't intended to add one more name to his list of victims; Snape's would fall just after Cedric's. He had tried to beg the professor with his eyes to let him die, to not get involved in this mess, and he had been almost gratified when the professor's first curse hit him. Perhaps he had nodded just to assure the professor that his actions were accepted – and certainly justified.

But, in reality, he had been a little disappointed. During the spasm of the 'light' Tormenta curse, he had to wonder if the professor truly hated him so much. The curse Snape had hit him with hadn't been any better than the Cruciatus… that the Light Side used such a curse might actually have made it worse. They could kill their enemies or put them into prison; how could they justify using tormenting curses?

Later, the potion Snape had given to him had been worse than ten Cruciatus curses. He'd felt every bone in his body melting. After some insufferable amount of time they burned themselves back to where they started, searing through his insides while they reformed. And finally, _that_ other curse... He remembered screaming for several long minutes.

In that moment, he'd been sure Snape betrayed Dumbledore. His duplicity had been more painful than the curses themselves. Dumbledore trusted this man! Somehow, Harry had to let the headmaster know that his professor wasn't trustworthy.

But afterwards, Snape had fallen next to him. He had saved Harry again. The professor had apologised sincerely, the guilt written clearly on his face. Harry hadn't been sure if he wholly understood the situation, but had accepted the apology before dying...

The memory shattered him completely. Suddenly, he remembered what Voldemort had said: '_I'll wait for you to beg me to kill you._' The implications of that single sentence slowly penetrated his mind.

Finally, Harry understood. He would die. In pain.

Harry felt the last of his power abandoning his tortured body, but didn't fight it. Letting the darkness cloud his senses again, he lost consciousness.

xxx

The next time Harry woke, he felt thirsty. He had to move if he wanted to drink… or at least to find out if there _was_ anything to drink.

From moment to moment he reminded himself: he would _not _give up! Not so easily!

Clenching his teeth, he shut his eyes tightly and used all of the power left in his torn body to sit up. A moment later he was upright, concentrating on keeping his balance. Hmm-mmm. He was a little bit dizzy, but it wasn't as overwhelming as it had been the first time he'd woken. Perhaps the after-effects of the curses were dwindling.

He just sat there for long minutes waiting for the disorientation to fade.

After a while, the nausea subsided and Harry tried to open his eyes. Relief washed through his body. He could see. His sight was not very sharp – his glasses were lost and probably broken - but he was able to examine his new surroundings. Torches fought darkness in the small cell, leaving the greater part of the room in shadow. It appeared to be lighter stone than the room he'd been in yesterday, but here and there dark splotches interrupted what he could see. He examined the stains more carefully and balked: like a grim testament to the untold horrors he was facing, the bloody smudges spoke of the countless lives the room had seen ended. A moment of blind panic later, he was sure there weren't any windows; he could only see a large brown door. Next to it there stood something like a big jar - perhaps water?

Summoning his last tendrils off strength, he tried to stagger to his feet. He managed to stand for a moment before he wavered and sunk back to the floor. It was useless. His legs were too weak to carry the weight of his body, and his head spun, leaving him dazed. Harry took a deep breath and eased himself up on all fours. His knobbly knees ached as he crawled closer and closer to the jar. Finally reaching the ceramic vessel felt like a victory over Voldemort. He grabbed the jar and lifted it to his mouth. The water was old and stale, but it was water and that was enough. The water soothed his tortured throat with each swallow, rejuvenating him like a healing elixir. The ceramic clattered dully against stone as he returned it to its place, and he was startled to hear a quiet, pained moan from a nearby shadow.

Harry froze. Wasn't he alone? Who else was here?

He tried to clear his sight and examine the other from a distance, but he couldn't. He had always been almost blind without his glasses and the dim light compounded the problem. Harry sighed and kneeled again. He had to examine the cell's other inhabitant. He crawled closer to the softly groaning man (he could hear that his cell-mate was male) and tried to focus on his face. It was a meaningless attempt. He simply was not able to see anything in the shadows. He sighed again in frustration and lightly touched the other's face.

The groans grew louder. He drew back his hand in terror. His blackened fingertips were caught in the dim torchlight, glinting wetly.

Blood. The man was bleeding. Profusely.

Harry forced down the nausea trying to crawl up his throat again. He sat down next to the man in thought. What could he do now? It was quite obvious that the man was in worse condition than him; he had to help the stranger. But how? He didn't know any healing spells and even if he did, they'd be useless without a wand.

A wand! Perhaps the other man had a wand! It was a tiny hope, but perhaps... perhaps there was some hope in this hopeless, misery-saturated cell. He touched the man again and ran his hands through his clothes. He fumbled through wet robes– not wet with water, but wet with something slimy, disgusting, viscous. Blood. And some more blood. Blood everywhere. He was horrified. He decided to crawl to the jar for some water to at least wash the man's face and offer him a drink. He grabbed the pot and, careful not to break it, he crawled back to the man on his painfully throbbing knees.

Fortunately or not, the jar was immense and almost full of water, and in the minutes of crawling he hated the vessel. He put it down not too near to the unconscious man, fearful that any sudden movement could turn it over, and after a short hesitation he tore a piece of his robes to clean the other's bloody face with. While searching for a suitable piece of cloth, he saw his own body for the first time since he'd regained consciousness. He blanched. _Just wonderful_, he groused inwardly. His condition wasn't much better than the man's. He brushed at his own face and realized that it was covered with sweat, blood and filth too.

'_Oh, no_' he thought for a moment, but tried to overcome the shock quickly. He gulped, waited his heartbeat to return to a more even rhythm, and then ripped a small piece from the least-bloody-and-dirty part of his ragged T-shirt. He poured some water on the rag, vigilantly conserving as much as he could.

With careful touches, he began to wash the other's face. It took some time, and in the meantime, his eyes slowly grew accustomed to the semi-dark around them. The man had light skin and shoulder length black hair...

No, it couldn't be. _No!_

The man he was washing so carefully was Snape.

Harry didn't want it to be real. Not because he hated the Potions Master – in reality, he couldn't hate the man after the fateful events of the day before – but because he just couldn't bear for Snape to suffer the consequences of his mistake. Of course, if he weren't here, it would mean that he'd already been killed. '_What a relief!_' Harry thought sarcastically. Snape was there and he was breathing, but in the end he would die, so the list of people to suffer because of him would grow nevertheless.

His mother and father, dead. Sirius, in Azkaban then on the run. Lupin, alone. Cedric, the spare. Lives ruined, because Harry had been part of them. Now Snape.

Not to mention the fact that he had to die alongside a person who hated him with his whole heart. Voldemort had been crueller than he knew, Harry was sure. He and Snape, together, in the same cell!

He cringed at the pain he suddenly felt in his stomach. It was a sharp pain, like a knife's stab. As the pain intensified, Harry felt sick again. This time, he couldn't fight it. He crept away and turned around as fast as he could. He didn't want to retch onto the Potions Master; Snape would kill him for it.

The water he drank before left his stomach in an acidic, pink torrent. Harry was sure there was nothing more left in him, but he couldn't stop retching. He felt horrible. Every part of his body was in pain. He was kneeling in his own vomit, locked in a cell with that greasy git, and he would surely die in some weeks.

What little hope he'd found left him.

He could only sense desperation and darkness and pain.

Nobody was there to help him.

He braced his hands on the filthy dungeon floor and started to cry.

xxx

Careful touches...

Water, cool water on his burning face...

It felt so good.

Who was it?

Quietus?

Surely him. Quietus, dear Quietus... Nobody else would help him.

Later... shocked gasps?

Why?

Then somebody was creeping away from him and he could clearly hear the sound of vomiting, followed by retching for long minutes. Then silence.

Silence, which after a while became nearly insufferable. And... crying. Somebody was crying. He was not Quietus.

Severus fought to regain consciousness. What was going on? Where was he? Who was his crying companion?

As he moved his arms, pain attacked his naked-like nerves. It hurt! He hissed through clenched teeth. The crying stopped.

Again, the silent noise of somebody creeping across the floor...

"Are you all right, professor?" a quiet, concerned voice asked from his side.

Who was it? This boy had to be a student from the school. Where _was_ he? In the dungeons? But... that didn't make sense. If he was in the dungeons, why was a student vomiting next to him? Why didn't he go to the bathroom? Or...

"Where are we?" Snape asked back. "Who are you?" was the second question. His voice was raw, and his mouth was suffused with a foul metallic taste.

"I am Harry Potter, sir, and we are in the dungeons of Nightmare Manor."

The quick answer hit Snape like the Cruciatus curse.

"No," he moaned. Suddenly he remembered the day before. "Oh, _no_."

He was in Hell, he was going to die, and Harry Potter was his companion in this fate. It couldn't be true. He and Potter were thrown in the same cell. The bastard was even crueller than he meant to be.

Severus moaned again and tried to sit up. It took some long minutes, but he finally dragged himself to sitting – albeit unsteadily, supported by his outstretched hands. He looked around the cell, fighting sweeping waves of nausea and trying not to slide back down onto his aching back. After the queasiness passed, he realized he was thirsty.

"Aren't you thirsty, sir?" the boy spoke up politely, as if he was reading his mind. Severus narrowed his eyes, but nodded. The boy lifted the jar carefully and helped him to drink. After some draughts Severus gave a noncommittal sound. He didn't want to drink too much.

"We have to spare the water," he explained when the boy took the jar away from his mouth. "They won't replenish it every day. If I remember correctly, one jar of water has to be enough for three days."

"Three days? But..." the boy cried out loudly.

"Silence, Potter," Severus barked. "Yes, for three days. And I will get a headache if you yell into my ears."

"So-sorry, sir," Potter stuttered.

They sat for long minutes in silence. Finally, the brat couldn't endure being silent anymore and spoke up again.

"Sir, do you know something about this place? Where are we? Are we going to die?" His voice was thin with worry.

Severus let a glower stretch across his face.

xxx

Harry could see the sneer deepening on his teacher's face. He responded in an annoyed voice, "If I'm not mistaken you _are _aware of our location, aren't you Potter? You told me that we are in Nightmare Manor, in prison. As for your second question: yes, we are most definitely going to die."

Harry shuddered. Well, he'd known the answer. Part of him knew his fate when he was caught yesterday … but he hadn't known that running away from the Dursleys would cause another death.

Drowning in self-recrimination, he suddenly he felt he had to apologise to the Potions Master.

"Sir," he began, but Snape barked again.

"Shut up, Potter."

It hurt. These three words caused more pain than the torture session of the day before, but he understood. Snape was also very well aware that their impending death was Harry's fault. If Snape wanted to die in silence without stupid questions and apologies from him, he had to give him the chance.

Harry felt dizzy again. He had to find a place in this room to sleep a little bit, something more comfortable than the uneven floor, but he couldn't see any bed or bed-like furniture in the cell. In reality, he couldn't see any furniture. After a while, he decided to crawl to the nearest corner. Of course, the corner wasn't warm and comfortable enough either, but at least it gave some feeling of security. He turned to the nearest wall and moved. A sharp pain arched through his side and stopped him the same moment. His _ribs_. He reached his hand to touch his chest. The pain became stronger. How didn't he realize sooner that he had broken ribs?

"Your ribs are not broken, Potter," he could hear the professor's cold voice. "Definitely bruised and possibly cracked, but they don't want you to die or to lose consciousness. They want to cause you more pain. They will not harm you irreparably."

Snape's voice was full of bitterness. Harry couldn't help but get angry.

"I see. But I didn't ask you, _sir_," he almost spat the last word. "And now, please, leave me alone."

Uncomfortable silence fell in the cell. When Harry uttered the last words he regretted it immediately, but it was too late. He sighed and crept to the corner. He lay on the floor, huddled as tightly as he could, and after a few minutes, everything went dark. He fell asleep.

xxx

Severus was angry with himself. He had been unnecessary rude to the boy. Well, it was mostly Potter's fault that they were in this damned situation anyways.

'_Not only his fault, Severus_,' he rebuked himself abruptly. He'd had the chance to make a decision and he had decided to help Potter, so he had no right to rail at the boy. He had to help him as much as he could. They would die in some days, perhaps weeks, but this would be a long road to take, and they were compelled to suffer together.

It had to be terrible for Potter to die this way, alone with the most hated person in his life. Severus sighed. He had to ease Potter's situation. It wouldn't be easy. He found it difficult to hate the boy – now, at least – but he still didn't like him. An insolent little brat, nothing more, but doomed to die... Potter was still one of his students and he had made a promise to Albus to protect the children under his care.

Albus... his thoughts wandered. At least he wouldn't have to return to Hogwarts and report the boy's demise to Albus. He wouldn't have to spend nights sleeplessly, reliving the torture again and again, feeling the guilt; he wouldn't have to face the brat's friends in his lessons, he wouldn't have to participate endless staff meetings concerning Potter's death, and he wouldn't have to confront the looks of suspicion and distrust in his colleagues' eyes… or the disappointment in Albus's. Most importantly, he would finally receive the punishment he deserved. Nothing more, nothing less.

He, the insupportable, mean bastard, would finally pay for everything he had done. This would be his absolution. Perhaps in the end he would die without that horrible guilt he had carried for decades, and perhaps before his death he would be able to sleep without nightmares. The next days' torture sessions would be something like a purifying ritual, repentance or even penitence for all his sins. Perhaps he would be able to find the peace he had lost so many years ago...

Then again, he wasn't sure he'd actually had that peace years ago. Perhaps for short moments, when he had been with Quietus... or sometimes with Albus, the only person in the world who did not detest him.

But right now, maybe he could reach that peace. He could feel it.

Pain purifies. He wanted to be purified. He wanted to be punished for everything he had done. And he was sure he would receive the deserved punishment. The Dark Lord would attend to it.

Lost in thought, he just sat there for hours. He felt calm and relieved, and somewhere in his heart, he felt happy.

Happy days in Hell. His happy days in Hell were just beginning.

Eventually, he heard a slight moan from Potter's corner. He felt pity. The boy was probably in pain and he could do nothing to help him… not without a wand or his potions.

He ran his hand over his pockets, but he was sure his ex-partners-in-crime had taken everything from him. Sure enough, his pockets were ripped and empty. No tiny vials of potions, no wand, no food.

Oh, the food. It would be very hard to get used not to eating anything. The idea seemed ridiculous. He wouldn't eat any more food in his life. Never. How strange! This thought made him remember the meals in the bright, warm and peacefully noisy Great Hall. The mouth-watering smells of Christmas meals, the delicious soups and stews, the endless glasses of pumpkin juice... He smiled. If the students had known how much he liked pumpkin juice! Well, perhaps with a little whisky... sometimes after dinner, in his quarters in the dungeons.

It seemed like so long ago... sitting in front of the fireplace, a glass of mixed pumpkin juice in his hand, staring at the dancing flames for hours, sometimes casting a look at the good book in his lap... an interesting book about potions, herbs, magical creatures or Dark Magic... It seemed like heaven now.

A heaven with appropriate nightmares, of course. He had never been truly happy there. He had to get caught by the Greatest Bastard to find the lost peace... together with Harry Potter, son of his archenemy, James Potter, the other bastard...

He drew himself out of his reverie. _Potter_. Severus cast a glance over to the shadowed corner, where he could just make out the crumpled form of a body tightly twisted in on its self. He'd sworn to himself not to harm the boy again, neither physically, nor emotionally, nor psychically. He would try to help him. Potter was the main reason for this tainted happiness after all, wasn't he?

"Potter, are you awake?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," a reluctant voice came from the corner.

Severus sneered. He, too, was reluctant to talk to the boy, but it was necessary. They had to come to at least civil terms. The pain of the tortures would be enough to suffer through; they didn't have to add more torment for each other with their behaviour.

He cleared his throat. "Do you feel better?" he sighed. Well, he felt strange in this role. The greasy bastard asking for Potter's health!

"No," the boy spat the single word. It meant: '_I don't want to speak with you. Leave me alone!_'

Severus could understand the boy's reluctance. After the four years they spent together in Hogwarts, Potter had gained some very good reasons to hate him. Not to mention the events of yesterday...

At that thought, Severus felt guilt wash over him. What he had done to the boy had been unforgivable, and yet, Potter had forgiven him. Why had he hated _this _boy? Was it really just because of a stupid prank his father and his mates pulled? His _dead _father. Even if his deeds had been almost as unforgivable as Severus's, James Potter was dead and the boy wasn't to blame for his father's cruel streak. And… he was Lily Evans's son too. Lily Evans – one the most caring people Severus had known in his life. And she was dead. Both of them: James Potter and Lily Evans.

Pieces of a puzzle Severus hadn't even realized he'd been making seemed to fall into place: the boy was an orphan. The idea seemed a little strange. Of course, he had always known... but now he _understood_ it, too. The thought was accompanied by a very uncomfortable feeling.

How many times had he jumped at the chance to rub Potter's nose in the fact that his father – his _dead _father – had been an arrogant fool? The braggart should feel vindicated; Severus had been exposed as every bit the fool he'd always thought the senior Potter embodied. He felt more compelled to help the Potter-spawn now. What was he supposed to say to him? And how? ('_And why?_' a tiny voice asked in his head, but he ignored it). After four years of mental torture, a Tormentacurse, a Bone Game Potion and a Knife Curse, he owed the boy.

He realized these thoughts were quite uncharacteristic of him. He had never cared for anybody before, except for Quietus, but he had been special. Severus really _was_a bastard. Perhaps these thoughts were part of this purifying affair... He had to violate himself; he was compelled to do it. Compelled by the first oath he had sworn to Dumbledore on Quietus' name, and by the second one he had took to Lily on the same name. Everybody had made him swear on _that_ name...

They had all known.

xxx

Harry lay on the floor, wondering why on earth the git had tried to speak to him. Of course, he knew he had to apologise to the man, and it was easier to apologise if the professor showed some willingness to talk. He cleared his throat.

"Umm... professor?" he began cautiously.

"Yes?" the git asked, in a surprisingly even voice that lacked its usual annoyed and bitter edge. What was wrong with him...?

"I... I want to..." he couldn't continue. It seemed very simple to say those words in his head, but to speak them aloud was another matter entirely.

"Continue, Potter," Snape said in the same tone of voice. It was not cold. It was not neutral. It might actually have been slightly... warm? Unbelievable.

Harry sighed and gathered all his willpower.

"Iwanttoapologise." He could see the man's confusion. Snape furrowed his brows and pinned Harry with an incredulous look.

xxx

"What?" Severus couldn't believe he'd heard the previous words. What was going on? _He_ had wronged the boy!

"I want to apologise, sir," Potter repeated again, slowly enough to leave little doubt that Severus heard correctly.

"Why?" Severus bit out. Potter seemed to struggle for words.

"It's my fault that... that you are in this situation."

Silence rang through the shadows.

The boy sounded less contrite than devastated, staring at his hands. What should he say, Snape wondered. Potter wasn't wrong, of course, but how could he tell the boy that he was not really upset with this situation? "I don't think it matters, Potter," he muttered after a while.

Harry's jaw fell. Severus rolled his eyes at the gaping teen, leaving the two confused men to stare at each other across the cold, dank cell.

"But, sir, you will die because of me," Harry explained slowly and calmly, as if he were talking to a child. "You must be angry..."

"It was my decision too, if I'm not mistaken."

A long silence stretched between them again. It was a strange sort of quiet; unfamiliar, but not entirely uncomfortable.

Eventually, Severus gave a resigned sigh.

"I want to apologise too."

It was the boy's turn to gape.

"What?"

"The curses I used yesterday..." the boy gave a pained jerk, "I didn't intend to hurt you to the degree I did. I... I was just... I was stalling for time," Severus added weakly, but Harry interrupted him.

"It's all right, Professor," the boy waved dismissively. "I don't want to talk about it. It was enough to bear the curses yesterday. Perhaps it will be enough to bear them tomorrow."

Snape raised an eyebrow. How on earth did Potter know? How could he be so... so... wise?

Stop! He hated the boy a day ago. Even if he dismissed his loathing yesterday evening, he didn't need to join the brat's considerable fan club today! Surely not!

Still…he could not dispute how completely he'd misunderstood the boy. He had never attempted to understand Potter, never tried to look beyond his hatred of James Potter – despite the oath sworn to Lily Evans. He had watched the boy, but he had never tried to know the person behind the name he'd sworn to protect. How many times had Albus warned him that the boy was not his father?

After some minutes Potter spoke up again.

"Sir, why are you so... civil to me now?"

Severus shrugged.

"Potter, first: I am not civil. Never. Do you understand?" he asked in a strange tone. Harry nodded, surprised, not knowing whether to laugh or not. "Second: we are going to die together. I think I want to die at peace. At peace with myself, and at peace with you, if it is possible. Do you understand?"

"Absolutely, sir," Harry cracked a small half-smile.

This was going to be interesting.

A door opened somewhere, and the torch flickered a weak apology.

xxx

Albus sat at his desk trying to answer the letters he had received the day before. Some of them were about the next school year: academic inquiries, special requirements parents had for their children and the inevitable questions concerning the appointment of the next Defence instructor. Other letters were pointedly not academic in nature: protests against his words at the closing feast about Voldemort's reappearance and questions from other quarters about how to keep their families safe. Hogwarts alumni sent many of the same questions: Was another war starting? What should they tell their children? How could they protect their children and themselves in times like this?

And many, many questions like them.

There was also a letter from Minister Fudge, which Dumbledore decided to read last. He suspected that it would be something about Harry and Voldemort – or perhaps Severus: yet another call to fire the Potions Master for his past or some other nonsense. Surely, Fudge was an irredeemable moron.

With a great sigh, he unfolded the parchment.

His first feeling was relief. The idiot minister didn't want to do anything to his Potions Master; on the other hand, the news was quite disturbing. Fudge wanted Harry to 'get examined' by the Ministry concerning Cedric Diggory's death. Dumbledore didn't like the idea. He remembered Severus's stories about the Ministry's examining methods. He remembered the traces of wounds and bruises on the irate Potions Master's back… wounds and bruises given by the Ministry Aurors. Mercury had never been bothered by his conscience when it had come to Voldemort and his followers. It wasn't surprising that Minerva... he strangled that thought. He had other things to concentrate on now.

Guilt weighed heavily on his mind over his appointment of Alastor to teach Defence last year. Severus had been severely hurt. His colleague had certainly felt betrayed. Albus felt like much of the current climate had been his fault; if he hadn't invited the Auror to teach Defence last year, Voldemort wouldn't have become as strong as he was now. He had little doubt that Voldemort would have returned even without Harry's blood, but the protection offered by the boy's blood had made him stronger than ever before.

Severus had confirmed the unfortunate news after he returned from the first Death Eater meeting.

And now the Ministry wanted to 'examine' Harry. What did they really want to do to the boy? Would they declare him mentally insane? Put him in Azkaban? Or... What was their game?

He was so deep in thought that he almost jumped when a large, brown owl dropped a piece of parchment on his desk. It was a simple, rolled parchment with a red seal. Urgent.

He quickly unfolded the letter.

He recognized Arthur Weasley's handwriting immediately. Perhaps he would get some insight into Fudge's plans for Harry.

But the letter was not about Fudge's plans. It _was_ about Harry.

_Albus,  
Harry's relatives informed the muggle police yesterday evening that Harry disappeared without a trace. They claim he ran away from the house after a family quarrel and they haven't seen him since. The report was filed about 4.30 p.m. yesterday.  
Do you know where he is? I really hope you have him. The boy is clever enough to let us know about his whereabouts, if he was free.  
Albus, I'm afraid You-Know-Who has him. What can we do?  
Yours sincerely,  
Arthur_

The note was scratched hastily, almost unintelligible in places. Albus looked at his clock. It was 2:46 p.m. Panic filled him for a short moment.

If Voldemort had taken the boy, there was one way to find out.

Severus.

He hurried to the dungeons lost in thought. When he stopped in front of the Potions Master's door, he could almost feel that his colleague wasn't there.

He couldn't find Severus in the rest of the castle, either.

An evil foreboding seized Dumbledore's throat. Harry Potter was missing. Severus Snape was missing. It could only mean one thing, the thing Arthur Weasley feared most: Voldemort had taken Harry.


	3. The Meaning of Life

_This chapter is re-edited**  
**_

* * *

_**Chapter 3 – The Meaning of Life**_

After the first uneventful, almost peaceful day, they had had a very long and crowded night.

Lying on the cell floor, Severus Snape meditated over the previous night's torments. He had been right when he'd thought of pain as a tool of purification and, Merlin knows, he had much to atone for. Damn it! He really had committed immense and unforgivable crimes, and not all of them as a spy for the Order. He completely deserved what he'd received - every beat, kick and curse. Everything from the first moment to the last.

But Potter...

Potter's case was another question. His 'sins' –sins? ridiculous!– had not been more than little slights and pranks, and the breaking of some school rules. Nevertheless, he had been tortured with greater cruelty than Snape-the-traitor had been.

During the whole torture session he felt his anger burning stronger and stronger as he heard Potter's shrieks filtering through the wall from the adjacent torture chamber. The boy's screams made it all the more difficult for Severus to suffer in silence. The boy had been louder than anybody else he had heard in his life. It had been a very big mistake. If you showed it was easy to make you suffer, your tormentors became more and more interested in your torture. The stupid boy...! Why did he draw so much attention to himself?

It wasn't until he'd been ordered to bring the boy back to their cell that he had begun to suspect that something was very wrong. The moment he'd entered the other chamber, Harry's chamber, he'd understood. His torture seemed like delightful fun compared to the boy's.

He'd tried to hold Potter as gently as he could. There hadn't been any unharmed part of the boy's body; holding him without causing him further pain had proved an impossible task. As he lifted Potter, the green eyes had fluttered open, clouded with pain and confusion for a short moment before shining with relief as his gaze settled on Severus.

And then the body had gone limp in his arms.

Severus had been surprised by the boy's obvious relief. Potter had been relieved to see him? Interesting.

After a very long, tottering trek to the dungeons, he'd tried to lay Potter down on the floor, but the boy had taken him off guard by grabbing onto his clothes (well, what _remained_ of his clothes) and had clung to them as if he'd be taken back to the torture chambers the moment he let go.

"Please no," he moaned quietly. The bewildered man didn't know what to do with the child in his arms.

Fortunately for Severus, Harry had rapidly lost consciousness and he'd been able to settle Potter down on the floor beside him. He couldn't sleep after that night anyway. It wasn't the pain; no, it was Potter's behaviour… or _his_ own reaction to it.

Their common fate could cause feelings of love, affection, care, or bonding he knew, even if he wasn't a Psychology expert... The suffering would have its effects even on him, despite his inborn coldness. He really was a ruthless bastard; it was not just an act he'd been playing for his students and colleagues. His decision to leave the Dark Lord had not been a consequence of a change of his good heart… no, not at all! He'd had another reason, more steadfast than any change of heart.

Albus had known it and for this reason he had trusted in him more than everybody else. If it had been a simple defection, the headmaster would never have accepted his offer to become his spy on Voldemort. No. It hadn't been a conversion. It had been a decision. An objective change of sides.

Emotionless?

Suddenly he had to stop. That was a dangerous thought.

Nevertheless, it was pure luck he wouldn't have to face the consequences of his accidental change in behaviour towards the Potter boy in front of the whole school. It would have been an interesting sight: he and Potter hand in hand... Fortunately, they would die right here with their changed emotions hidden from everybody.

_Changed emotions_, he suddenly shuddered. Had his emotions changed towards the little brat?

'Shut up, Sever,' said a voice in his head that reminded him of Quietus's... 'You've been over this, don't you remember? The first evening, the boy's inexplicable behaviour, and the awakening after that. Yes. You have changed emotions towards him. And remember what you said to him.' Of course, it wasn't Quietus's voice; it was just that remaining shred of his conscience.

Severus sighed. He would have to get used to the changed world. He wasn't a tormentor any more but one of the tormented, and the hated son of his sworn enemy became somebody... precious? Ridiculous…but he couldn't deny that the boy had become important to him. It was unnecessary to wonder about these things. This meditation was all too filled with stupid emotions, which had been severely affected by the last two days' sufferings.

Instead, he turned his head to the boy.

Potter was already awake, still lying on the stone floor where Severus had set him; his eyes were fixed on the dark ceiling.

"I am afraid I don't think I can do it," he said calmly as he felt the professor's aborted movement from his side.

"What, Potter?" Severus asked weakly.

"This whole thing. The tortures. I will break. I will beg Voldemort to kill me. He was right." His tone remained neutral and emotionless.

A very uncomfortable feeling settled in Severus's stomach. _No_. The boy couldn't give up. He opened his mouth to admonish the boy, but thought better of it.

"Aren't you thirsty?"

The boy's gaze turned to him curiously. Severus was relieved that Potter could still _feel_ curious at all. But after the short glance, Potter's eyes returned to the ceiling.

"No."

"You have to drink," Severus said as kindly as his frayed temper would allow. It wasn't easy; the flat behaviour left him feeling disquieted and angry.

"Why." It wasn't really a question. It was just a... word, an empty word. Nonetheless, Severus answered it.

"You've lost a lot of blood."

"I've noticed."

"The Healing Spells they have cast on you can't work without some liquid in your system."

"They just want to prolong my pain with those spells."

"You should drink a few draughts nevertheless."

"No."

This time, the Potions Master became very angry. If he'd been able to, he would have stalked up and down the cell, pacing to burn the edge off his frustration. As it was, he merely glared at the boy.

"Potter!" he growled.

"Yes." A monotonous sound, practically lifeless. Severus gulped, his anger dissipating into growing uncertainty. Potter's mental condition was bad… _very_ bad.

He stood on shaking legs, went to the door, fetched the jar and knelt back by the boy's side.

"You should drink," he said softly, while shifting an arm carefully under the boy's shoulders. He helped Potter into a sitting position and manoeuvred the jar to his mouth. Damn the pot, it was too heavy and shook in his grasp. The boy turned his deadened gaze to him again.

"Sorry, sir. I don't want to drink, I'm not thirsty."

"You must," Severus said flatly, "and you will."

The jar trembled in his hand again. The tortures had their effects even on him, he noticed for the second time that day.

"No."

"Yes."

_Like in the nursery_, Severus thought.

Finally, the stupid Potter opened his mighty mouth and accepted some draughts. Severus sighed. Just keeping the boy alive – for now – wasn't a simple task. More complicated than the whole damned, bloody Triwizard Tournament. More complicated than brewing Polyjuice Potion. He put the jar back on the floor and slowly lowered the child onto his back. Grabbing the jar, he took a shallow sip as well and his thoughts returned to the boy.

"What did they do?" he asked finally, as neutrally as he could.

"It doesn't matter." Again, that damned, inflectionless monotone echoed dully through the cell.

"Potter. It DOES matter."

"No… Voldemort was right. I am weak."

"No, Potter, you most certainly are not. Do not drivel to me."

"I'm not driveling. I won't survive much longer."

"Last night was only the second round. You cannot give up so eagerly!"

"Why not?" the boy shuddered. "I don't think there's a rule against it."

Severus tried another tactic. "Do you want to satisfy the Dark Lord?"

"I don't mind it anymore."

Severus jerked; the words hit hard. It couldn't be true, but then again... his hopeless capitulation wasn't an entirely unexpected thing – just disappointing. Potter _was_ only a fifteen-year-old boy, after all, whatever he'd survived in the past.

"Why do you think it doesn't matter?" he asked tiredly. He suddenly felt old and exhausted. Why was he compelled to reassure the boy? Would he be able to at all?

"I will die."

"Don't think if you give up you won't die."

"I know. But I won't have to suffer for weeks. It'll be short: a green light, and finished."

"Potter..."

"Green lightening," the boy continued hollowly, without noticing Severus's attempt to speak up, "like the one that killed my Mum and Dad and Cedric. I will die like Barty Crouch's spider..." The tone wasn't sarcastic. It wasn't bitter. It was just empty like a deep, dark hole.

Something very bad was going on. Severus's worry grew into anxiousness.

"Potter, don't say such things."

"Why not? I don't want to live anymore."

"Because of the tortures?" he asked cautiously.

A subtle change ran across the boy's face.

"No," he said after some seconds, "not the tortures. Not _only_ the tortures."

"Would you mind telling me then..."

"Why not?" Potter answered instantly. "I think you have the right to know, haven't you?"

"Potter, I am _not_ a victim of yours! Being here was _my_ decision; you don't have any obligations toward me. Do you understand?" he asked angrily. This Potter brat was beginning to get under his skin.

"Sure..." Potter shrugged.

The familiar feeling of the deep hole wiped his anger away. In its place, he felt a strange, confused emotion emerging in him: a hint of worry, mixed with a swirl of other thoughts and emotions that he couldn't identify.

The anxiousness became stronger and stronger.

He spun to face the boy, and although this new movement was accompanied by a dizzy and nauseous feeling, he wanted to look into the boy's eyes whatever the cost.

"Potter, what's the problem?" he asked seriously.

"Everything is meaningless," the boy said so quietly that he could barely hear it.

"Everything? What do you mean by everything?"

"Life. My life."

"You know that that is not true."

"Do I know?" the boy laughed bitterly. "No, Professor. I know I'm right."

Severus didn't say anything and just stared at the boy, barely visible just outside the torch's flickering circle of light, with deep interest.

Potter sighed.

"I don't know if I can express what I feel, but I guess I can try." When Severus nodded, he went on. "I think life has meaning when you have a place, a firm place that you can always return to."

"Place?" the Potions Master asked incredulously.

"Not a physical place," Potter sighed. "It's rather something like... a family. A home."

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"And you have one."

For the first time that day, a strong emotion appeared on the boy's face.

"Oh, really," he said acidly. "If you call the current place you live home. In _that_ sense I have a home."

"Oh..." The professor was stunned. How could he respond? He hadn't known anything about Potter's home life before, and wasn't sure this was the best moment to ask about it.

"I have no place to return. I never have," Potter's words somehow validated Severus's suspicions.

"And your friends?" Severus tried.

Potter sighed and suddenly looked concerned. Relief washed over Severus. The boy could still be emotionally engaged. He wasn't too far gone.

"Well... they were always there for me – or they tried to be – but..." he didn't continue, but the worried expression didn't disappear from his face.

"But?" Severus prompted after a while.

"They are just children, Professor," Harry looked calmly at the frozen Severus.

The implications of the boy's simple statement hit the professor hard. All of a sudden, he felt he couldn't go on with this conversation. He was out of arguments. A fifteen year-old boy... defeated him. Defeated him easily, gracefully, effortlessly. He was not used to this.

Harry burst into a laugh, alarming Severus from his stupor.

"What's on, Potter?" he asked, confused at the boy's rapidly changing moods.

"I... I just... saw the expression on your face, sir..." the boy couldn't stop smirking.

Severus smiled slightly. He could imagine that expression.

"Potter, there are more things in life to live for than home and family," the man picked up the interrupted conversation suddenly.

"Really, sir?" To Severus's great relief, the boy seemed to be in a better state of mind, though he could still hear traces of incredulity and emptiness in his voice.

"Yes, Potter. Believe me. I know," Severus stopped. He didn't understand himself. Why did he mix personal references into this damned conversation?

"And what are these 'other things'?" he heard Harry's curious voice ask. Curious? Another good sign. He quickly finished the self-reprimand and looked at the boy lying next to him.

"The internal things. Intrinsic values. They're what make you the person you are. That which you said you wouldn't trade to Voldemort for your life…"

"Do you mean my soul, sir?"

Severus nodded.

"Yes. I mean everything inside you: your feelings, knowledge, wisdom, decisions, the things you are. These are more important than the external things like home or other people."

A long silence fell between them. Severus saw the boy's uncertainty, and he began to doubt the truth of his previous statement. Was it true that internal values could give life meaning? He thought of his own life, a life without home and loving people...

Home and family were important, but after Quietus had died... everything had lost its colour, and abstract meanings and purposes had faded significantly.

"Well..." Harry began, and he sounded as unsure as Severus was deep inside. "On one hand I understand what you're saying. On the other hand, I disagree."

"Oh?"

Potter sighed deeply before answering.

"It seems so reasonable to live for internal values, but..." he scratched his neck in thought, "sometimes you need some external help too. Something solid outside yourself to give you the strength to go on."

That was true. Severus couldn't help but think of his own conversations with Albus and Minerva.

"You have those external helps, I think," Severus answered quietly.

"Oh, do I?" A little hint of sarcasm toned the boy's voice.

"Of course. You have people who love you. They are not here now, but they love you nonetheless. And..." How could he explain _this_ to the boy?

"And?"

"Pain gives life meaning, too."

The boy didn't laugh, although a large part of Severus expected him to. On the contrary, he seemed to melt into a pensive mood. Could a teenager understand such a hard statement? When he'd spoken, he had been sure Potter wouldn't understand. The boy, looking reflective, seemed to be drawing his words together in some meaningful way.

"Er... Professor," Potter finally said. "I'm not sure I understand. May I try to express what my understanding is?"

"Fine," he said. The boy was more intelligent than he'd ever suspected… of course, he'd never suspected Potter was intelligent at all."So?"

"The pain is a sign of my... importance." Harry apparently fought to express himself, but the words didn't come easily. He furrowed his brow and spoke up again. "The pain is a sign of hatred. To be hated is better than to be ignored."

"Excellent, Potter. Fifty points to Gryffindor."

Harry smiled slightly, but shook his head.

"Sir, don't you think fifty points are too much for such an inadequate answer?"

"Well... it was not the complete answer, you are right," Severus smiled in return.

"I didn't think so," Harry nodded seriously. "Please tell me the missing part of it, sir."

"This is one of the most important things you will ever learn, Potter, so pay close attention."

"I will, sir."

Severus leaned back against the rough wall and began to explain. "The direction of pain shows you who you are. If you cause pain to anybody else, you are weak. If you have to suffer pain, you are strong. Better to say weaker and stronger, I suppose, because all of this depends on two - or more - people's interaction."

"The pain shows me that I am stronger than Voldemort even if appearances show the opposite?" Harry asked, torch light twinkling merrily off of his eyes.

"Precisely, Potter. But..." he wanted to add something, but the boy interrupted him.

"Then I am stronger than you, too," Potter smiled widely.

"What... Potter-" he began menacingly, but he was again interrupted.

"You tormented me for four years. I've never tormented you. You caused pain to me and I suffered it, so I am stronger in our relationship."

It couldn't be true. For the second time that day, the boy stunned him without a wand. His argument was so perfect and beautifully constructed that he couldn't help but laugh.

It was so strange. They were sitting in the Hell after a whole night's torture, Harry Potter and Severus Snape, the golden Boy-Who-Lived and the greasy bastard Death-Eater-Turned-Spy, and they were laughing at the boy's slightly impertinent, but nevertheless true, understanding of pain and meaning and _life_.

It was strange, but it was good.

It was something like happiness.

"Professor, may I ask you a... personal question?" Harry asked after a while.

"I'll see. Ask your question and I'll decide if I want to answer it or not."

Harry seemingly felt uncomfortable. He shifted in a fluster, but he lifted his gaze into the professor's eyes.

"If you know this kind of... truth about the meaning of pain, why did you become a Death Eater?"

Severus's mood darkened, and he struggled not to sneer a sarcastic retort. His flaring temper must have been evident on his face, because the boy withdrew, an apprehensive look on his face. Severus forced himself to take a deep, calming breath. He sighed.

"When I was young, I was looking for power. I thought, like many others, that power meant complete control over the people around me. I grew up in a family where Dark Magic was the obvious path to follow and it is easier to follow a well-trodden path than to forge your own. Of course, I never thought of Dark Magic as the easy way, however..." Severus's voice trailed off into the dark shadows of the cell.

"If you'd thought about it then you would probably have chosen the other side," Potter completed the sentence and Severus was grateful for it. In reality, he was thinking about other things that he was not sure he wanted to share with Potter.

"Yes," he agreed. "Generally, appearances are deceptive. It takes some time to understand that not everything is what it seems. On the contrary, instances where something is exactly as it appears are rare exceptions to the rule."

"Voldemort is an exception, isn't he?" Potter asked, interrupting Severus again. "He is what he looks like."

"Er... yes. Yes, now he looks like the monster he is, but in the beginning it wasn't so clear. He was a handsome man, who looked like an idealist who just wanted to nurture the other side of Magic - or Art, as he called it - and allow it to flourish. He had many followers, not only from Slytherin, but from every House..."

"From _every _House? From Gryffindor too?" The boy looked at him in total disbelief.

"Yes, from Gryffindor too," he answered, a little bit coldly. "If I remember correctly, you even know one of them."

Harry paled slightly.

"Yes," he muttered quietly. "Peter Pettigrew."

"And he is not the only one."

Potter sat wordlessly for long minutes. Then he sighed.

"Perhaps you shouldn't have to explain, at least not now," he whispered.

"Why?" Severus asked sincerely. He couldn't see the boy's point.

"The meaning of life again," explained Potter. "Life is so confusing. It's too hard to live without ideals to look up to. Gryffindors as perfect creatures, for example."

"Potter," Severus said softly. Harry lifted up his head in surprise. The boy looked like he'd been expecting a reprimand, not understanding. "If you have to face the truth, you have to face the whole truth, as it is." He put his hand on the boy's shoulder, and looked into his eyes. "The world is not black and white. It's mostly mixed and grey, like the people living in it. The most important thing you have to focus on is _you_. Not your interests, but your personality and conscience. You have to live in such a way that you can be at peace with yourself. Is that clear?"

Harry nodded. Severus took his hand off the boy's shoulder.

"Well. How are you?"

Potter's eyes, which had been fixed on the ceiling, returned to Severus again.

"Er... How do you mean, sir?" he asked, confusion clear in his expression. "Do you mean physically, or mentally?"

"Both."

"Mentally I feel perfect," he smiled at Snape, "thanks to you. As for my physical condition... I think it's better too."

Severus was surprised by the boy's thanks. He was not used to being thanked.

"Although the thought that they will come for us soon doesn't ease my pain."

Severus sneered in disgust. "I don't think you have to worry about that. When they come, you'll have to face them, but until then don't bother yourself."

"I promise I'll try, sir."

"Good."

They sat for a couple of moments in a companionable silence. Severus studied the boy surreptitiously. Dark smudges stood out vividly against his pale skin, and no part of him was unmarked. It didn't matter how often he'd seen the Dark Lord's victims: his stomach churned. He didn't imagine that he looked much better. At least the dim torch light camouflaged the worst of their injuries. His stomach grumbled.

"Er... Professor?" Harry opened his mouth tentatively.

"Yes, Potter?" _What did Potter want now?_ Snape thought annoyed. He had never been the chatty type and this conversation with the boy exhausted him.

"It's too hard not to think about the... future, if we are just sitting here in total silence. Couldn't we continue talking about things?"

"What kind of things do you want to talk about, Potter?" Severus asked half curiously, half annoyed.

"If you don't want to talk about personal or philosophical things, you can still tutor me in Potions."

"Wha-what, Potter?" Severus looked at him in shock.

"P-o-t-i-o-n-s, sir," he smiled widely.

After a moment, Severus succeeded in regaining his composure (his hadn't been quite a good spy for nothing!) but he was at a loss for words.

"Look, Potter. Why do you want to study Potions here? It's a little bit... meaningless, don't you think?"

"Meaningless?" Harry asked with amused smile. "If I remember correctly we had a beautiful argument on this topic recently, didn't we?"

Severus couldn't help but smile in return. This boy...!

"Potter, please. Don't use my words against me. This was the third time..."

"See, Professor. _You_ have to face the whole truth too, even if it's said by you!"

"Potter! The fourth time...!" Severus lifted his voice in amusement.

"I've never asked you for Math tutoring, sir," the boy said in mock earnestness.

They burst into laughter again. It was several long minutes before they calmed down.

"I'd have never believed it before," said Potter after some deep breaths. "Us, laughing together, being civil…"

"It's the simple result of psychological realities, nothing more," Severus replied dryly.

"What is? The laughter, or being civil?"

"Both."

"Oh," was there disappointment in Potter's voice? "And here I thought it was your decision."

"What?" Snape furrowed his brows as he tried to follow the boy's train of thought. He wondered idly if the Gryffindor usually made more sense.

"You told me yesterday that you wanted to die in peace. I thought you were trying to make an effort, but now you say that all this is the mere consequence of some psychological facts."

"That is the _fifth_ time you've thrown my words back at me." He paused, and turned his eyes to the ceiling, unconsciously mimicking the boy's earlier pose. "Don't you see? The desire to die in peace is a psychological fact most people share, too."

"And where are you behind these psychological layouts?" the boy asked, mischievous twinkles glinting in his eyes again.

"I'll kill you, Potter. I won't let the Greatest Bastard do it. I want to do it. Now!"

They stared each other amused, Snape in mimicked anger and Harry snickering under his breath. After a while the boy spoke again.

"Is Voldemort the Greatest Bastard?" He looked at the professor curiously.

"Who else?" Severus asked back.

"Why do you call him the 'Greatest Bastard'? Why not Bastard the Great?"

"Simple. He is not really a great wizard. He is great only at being a bastard," he explained in a professional manner.

"Really, my dear Professor?" a voice hissed suddenly from the direction of the door. A chill ran down Severus's spine.

Voldemort stood in the doorway; his angry red eyes seemed to be burning in the torchlight.

"I think your free time is over. It's our turn to have some fun!" he said menacingly. "It will be very amusing… for us."

Snape turned his head to Harry.

"Don't forget what I said about the meaning," he whispered quietly.

Harry nodded, his eyes full of worry.

"You either!"

xxx

"For the last time: I do not know where Harry Potter is!" Dumbledore fumed as he looked at the Minister sitting in front of him.

"You've hidden him, haven't you? I just cannot understand _why_. We have to examine the circumstances of Cedric Diggory's death thoroughly and we have only young Harry Potter to testify about the events that occurred that unfortunate evening. We cannot accept your ridiculous tale about Voldemort's return until you show us some proof of it. As for Professor Snape's behaviour... I might have known after Black's escape he was raving... I think the Board of Governors is going to have a closer look at his files. If you won't help the Ministry, Headmaster Dumbledore, we'll have to find Harry ourselves."

"And what do you plan to do to him?" Dumbledore asked in a stern voice. "To question him? Or to accuse him of the murder of Cedric Diggory? Perhaps your plan is something more sinister… What will you do if you decide in the end that Harry Potter, a fifteen year old boy, is the new Dark Lord?"

"Headmaster..." Fudge paled slightly and tried to reply, but Dumbledore stopped him with a glare.

"Minister, if you are going to throw blind accusations about, don't forget you accuse me as well! And if I were you, I would not fight against another Light Side supporter when Voldemort –" his gaze darkened as the Minister flinched, "yes, _Voldemort_ – none of this You-Know-Who rubbish – is rising and gaining power again! He is back, he is preparing against us, and if we are not ready to face him, our losses will be much greater than the last time! Do you understand me, Minister?"

"Ye... Yes, sir..." The Minister's voice was weak and powerless.

Dumbledore nodded.

"Well, Minister. I have to go now. Do not forget to think about the things we've discussed. Goodbye," he said, and left the room.

During his trip back to Hogwarts, he wondered about the Minister's strange behaviour. The Ministry, again, wanted to solve its problems as easily as it could. If they claimed that Harry was the next Dark Lord, they'd have the answers to Black's mysterious escape and Cedric Diggory's death… and they would be partially right. It was precarious situation. A half-truth is a crueller weapon than a lie against the truth.

With half-true statements, it was so easy to lead people astray. Albus thought back to Harry's second year: parseltongue and power - everybody believed the poor boy was Salazar Slytherin's Heir. There were quite a few similar facts at the ministry's disposal to manipulate wizarding society with: Harry's ability to speak parseltongue; the mysterious power with which he had defeated the Dark Lord at the age of one; his wand, which was a twin of Voldemort's; Black's relationship with Harry and his mysterious escape last year; Cedric's death.

For the first time, Dumbledore remembered Mercury's time as the Minister of Magic with nostalgia. The man had been narrow-minded, even cruel at times, but at least he'd never been the manipulative file-worm Fudge was. Most significantly, Mercury had never fought against him. They hadn't been friends – Merlin forbid! – but when the war had broken out, they had been allies, not opponents.

Whatever Fudge was planning, Harry's history was an all-too-real threat. The other students' predictable reactions when the new school year began would be hard enough on Harry; he needed a plan to lighten Harry's burden.

Fortunately, he had an idea that could solve the problem, at least temporally.

Lily's secret.

But first, he had to find the boy, hopefully with Severus.


	4. The Penitent

Betaed by Lliey Gemini

Revised: 17-12-03

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**Chapter 4 - The Penitent**

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They had been standing in the torture chamber facing the wall for 22 hours. Harry felt incredibly tired and the urging feeling of his needs made him extremely sick. Sometimes, he looked at the Potions Master standing next to him just to... check on him? Yes, partially, and to study the man's behaviour. It began to be his pastime from the very beginning of their torture session, because this time they were tortured together. Voldemort had been there only during the 'interesting' parts of the torture and he'd always paid attention to guide the way of torturing with his wise-like advices. Between the hours of pain they were forced to stand facing the wall in silence.

Harry caught the professor's gaze checking on him from time to time, and once, when they remained alone for some minutes, Snape even asked him with a worrying expression in his paler than sallow face-

"Potter, are you all right?"

"Er... almost, sir but I have to go to the toilet." Snape nodded.

"I do imagine. But you mustn't think about it, at all. They want to abase you as much as they can. They will not allow you to go there." 

Harry sighed. His suspicions had been confirmed.

"What can I do then, sir?"

"Do you indulge daydreaming, Potter?" he asked in an awkward tone. "If not, you have to begin right now. Think about something funny and force yourself not to notice your needs. Do you understand? You have to keep your dignity, if you want to survive."

Survival... as it was possible...

First, Harry had no idea which kind of daydream could be stronger than his needs and pains. Still looking at Snape, he first tried to copy the man's behaviour. He seemed so firm, so stable that Harry secretly envied him. Would he be ever as strong as him? He pressed his thighs together more tightly and felt as he started to sweat in the passive torment. Nobody hurt them, and then again… this was much worse then the beating or the curses. He desperately needed something to concentrate on before… before anything could happen.

He sighed and looking at Snape more closely, he tried to find out the man's dreams. Most probably, the man was dreaming about some very nasty potions, or deducting points from Gryffindor for some imagined trespasses... It was quite an interesting game, more interesting than daydreaming itself. He didn't know much about the professor, so he filled the holes of his knowledge with imagined pictures about Snape's imaginary life and pastimes.

They were really funny. After a while, Snape riding on broomstick as a beater (for example) became his favourite as he pictured to himself, as the professor's long, greasy hair was streaming in the wind, his club waving menacingly in his hand... Or the other favourite: Snape collecting flowers. For potions, of course, but the mere idea of Snape in a large field collecting various coloured flowers was priceless. He was almost snickering for a moment, and hardly managed to keep on his composure. Snape collecting flowers was almost as hilarious as Snape and hair washing... Harry decided, if once he managed to somehow get out of this hell he would share these ideas with Ron.

Sometimes, Harry felt a little ashamed for his thoughts, and he regretted them when they came back and the professor's torture went on. The first time he saw Snape in obvious misery, he had realised that his feelings towards the mean, older git of a professor had changed totally. The worry and the pain of loosing him were worse than ten Cruciatus. Harry didn't want him to die, no, never! Although he tried to mask these feelings, because he didn't want their tormentors to increase the professor's pains just because it tormented him, Harry. He knew well that Voldemort's main purpose was mostly his breaking and not Snape's punishing, and that the Greatest Bastard planned to use their still weak bond for causing more and more suffering.

Yes, he was sure that was Voldemort's aim in putting them together: blackmail. If Snape knew those psychological theories about pain and bonding, then Voldemort could know them as well. And if he knew, he'd surely thought it would be easier to break them. It had to be something viciously planned usual way of torment people, and surely, they weren't the first.

Watching Snape in pain was so heart wrenching that Harry was almost grateful when his turn arrived. He didn't want to see Snape suffering and writhing soundlessly any more. It was worse than his loud tortures; that silent pain… Snape was indeed very strong, and Harry wanted that strength as well. So he too struggled to hold his screaming back as much as he could. Somewhere inside he knew that he wanted to ease Snape's situation too. Perhaps, if he managed to hold back his painful screams, Snape wouldn't think he was in such large amounts of pain.

It was the fifth or the sixth round, when he finally suffered through almost silently. It was a satisfying feeling, and suddenly he understood Snape's words about dignity, and the meaning of the long speech about the pain's use became clearer and clearer. His life was no longer meaningless. In the moments of soundless pain he felt his power growing by this knowledge.

When the last curse faded and he was lying on the floor trying hard to breathe, he heard the hated voice addressing the professor.

"I see, Snape, you didn't waste any time explaining some important thing to Mr. Potter about winning over the pain, did you? Or is he just imitating you? Are you such good friends?And here I can't help but wonder if you told him who your 'teacher' was? And about your experiences being in the other side of the wand? Your professional skills in tormenting? Cursing? Killing? Have you already introduced yourself to the boy or you just played the role of the good guy in front of him?"

Harry's heart stopped for a moment. What was he going about?

Voldemort stepped next to Harry and turned the boy onto his back with his leg.

"Perhaps you could test, Mr. Potter, some _really_ amazing potion developed by your teacher here, and we can make this little  sessions of ours more interesting. Agree, Mr. Snape?" he turned suddenly to the Potions Master.

Harry could see as Snape's eyes widened in horror.

"Leave the boy alone," he said in a hoarse voice, but Voldemort just shrugged.

"Why should I leave him?" he asked with mock curiosity tone.

Snape moaned. He couldn't say anything to convince the Dark Lord to leave his victim alone. He realised that Voldemort's main purpose was to abuse the weak trust between the two of them, and to weaken their resistance by spreading the seeds of mutual distrust. He was sure if Voldemort had gone on this topic about his past the boy would have never trusted him again. And if Voldemort would give him those potions...

For an endless moment, he felt panic rising in his chest. He didn't want to lose the boy's trust, although he didn't know why. He felt for sure that if he lost it, his happy days in hell would end too.

Harry realised the changes on Snape's face and suddenly, he spoke up.

"I am ready to face the _whole _truth." He just hoped Snape would understand what he'd intended to say.

"Let's see," the Dark Lord turned to him smirking.

The time became an endless queue of different pains, and after a while, Harry couldn't sense anything around him. The world became a big blur with moving figures, but he just lay on the floor fighting the various kinds of pains, sometimes unable to hold back a groan or a scream. He felt deadly exhausted, he wanted to die or to sleep or to lose consciousness, but Voldemort paid close attention to Ennervate him every time he fainted.

For very short instants between two potions, he could see Snape's deep torment as he was compelled to watch the whole session. And in spite of the fact he knew the professor was responsible for all the pain, he couldn't be angry with him. He didn't know why.

After two more hours Voldemort wasn't able to Ennervate him again. He was awake, but just slightly. He could feel when somebody's arm wrapped cautiously around him, and he was carried like small child. He felt the tottering steps of his holder. The man managed to carry him until almost the bottom of stairs, when he dropped him, and he rolled down to the cell's door, but to his surprise it didn't hurt him. It just wasn't important. In that very moment he finally lost consciousness.

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When he awoke, he was in the familiar cell lying on the floor close to the door. Snape was still unconscious and Harry decided to do the 'morning routine' inasmuch as he could there. In the jar, he found surprisingly fresh and cold water. He wiped his face with a piece of wet robe cleaning the remainders of the various potions from his lips and cheeks. He apologised to himself for wasting water, but he rinsed his mouth too. He didn't want to swallow his bitter spit, still mixed with all those liquids he had been forced to swallow. Finally, he drank. It was better than anything he'd ever felt in his life. After that, he returned to his corner and sat down leaning against the wall, shutting his eyes.

He felt light-headed and dizzy, and his stomach ached. His muscles were sore and several parts of his body were still throbbing in pain. Every breath was painful, because as his ribs rose and fell, the cracked bones almost exploded in pain, and the cough, which attacked him from time to time just made this pain more accentuate and inevitable. Tears ran down his cheeks in silent agony.

And this was just the beginning, really. What would he do to this constant pain in the next days? Could he lessen it somehow, or he had to accept it and to learn to live together with it until Voldemort finally decided to finish them off? He didn't know, but the future perspectives didn't seem hopeful.

On the top of it all he was hungry and cold. After all those acid-like potions, his stomach wanted some real food, and churned with both pain and hunger. He couldn't help but meditate about his favourite foods, which just increased the gaping vacuum in his belly, so he tried to change another topic to think about. Warm clothes. That was another good topic, but absolutely hopeless, like food. He sighed desperated, when he heard a sudden sound from Snape's direction. Harry opened his eyes and forced his feeble vision to catch the scene just a few feet from him. The professor was jerking on the floor, probably in a nightmare, and was muttering wildly under his breath.

"Quietus, you must... No... Don't... Why can't you understand? Wait... I can't do it! No. Father, father, kill me now! Kill me, kill me… No, not him, not Quietus, please, not him, Quietus, no! NOOOO!" The last word was loud and full of desperation. Harry shuddered, and crept closer to Snape. What he saw, simply made him gape in shock. Tears ran down the man's face and silent sobs were shaking his body. Harry felt a strong urge to do something, to comfort him somehow, but he was so unsure... Cautiously, he touched the man's face and wiped his tears with tender movements, caressing his cheeks and mumbling quietly some kind words.

The man slowly relieved. Harry could see a weak smile appearing on his face.

"Quietus?" he asked warmly, his eyes still shut. It was such an unfamiliar tone from the cold-hearted git, Harry thought.

"No, professor," he answered calmly and slowly, he drew back his hand. "Just me, Harry. Harry Potter."

Snape released a long breath and the smile disappeared. Harry could see his jaw clenching. After a while he opened his eyes.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," he said in his usual cold voice. In reality he was only embarrassed as he felt the traces of tears in his eyes and on his face. He was crying in front of Potter. The situation was more than embarrassing.

"Good morning, sir," the boy said politely, but something like disappointment sounded in his answer.

For a short instant, Snape felt his anger building inside. But the memory of kind caresses nudged his mind wiping the anger away. Did the boy really touch him? Him, the filthy, greasy, ugly git? It was frankly unimaginable. There were only a few people, who had ever showed kindness towards him or had touched him willingly. And now the boy... Why?

He tried to sit up, but when he failed, he supported himself on his elbows.

"Why, if I may ask you, Potter, did you touch me?" he barked nervously.

"You had a nightmare and you were crying," the boy answered matter-of-factly. "And... I wanted somehow to... to..."

"To what?" his voice was harsh and aggressive. How did the cheeky prat dare…?

Harry jerked hearing the menacing tone.

"To comfort you," he whispered. "Just comfort, nothing else. I am sorry, sir," he whispered the last words but the deep sadness was still clearly audible to Snape. So, when the boy turned around heading his corner, Snape's voice stopped him.

"Wait, Potter."

Harry turned around again and lifted his gaze to the professor's. For a long moment there was perfect silence.

"Thank you," Snape finally muttered and this time it was he who turned away from the frozen Harry.

There was again another long and uncomfortable silence between them. Neither of them knew how to open a conversation or what they were supposed to do, to say. Harry, with obvious efforts, crept back to his corner and sat down again drawing his knees up to his chest. His chest was killing him by this movement, but he was too cold to care. He embraced his legs strongly and closed his eyes. This posture seemed to be the most satisfying against the cold, which surrounded him and filtered under his skin, into his bones.

The dungeons were always cold, this one wasn't an exception either, and the remnants of his clothes couldn't cover his chilled body. After some moments, he was shivering.

He didn't notice that the Potions Master was staring at him, until the man finally sighed and coughed to gain Harry's attention.

"Potter, would you mind if I sit next to you?" he asked quietly.

Harry just nodded. He didn't care. Snape unhurriedly stood up, sometimes hissing in the same pain Harry was, and cautiously leaned over and picked up his ragged cloak from the floor where he had left there two days ago. The robe was stiff of clotted blood and extremely filthy, but that was the only blanket-like thing available for them. He sat next to the shivering boy and pulled the cloak tightly around them both. He tried not to touch Harry, but the cloak wasn't big enough to move away, and the boy needed something warmer than the cloak anyway, so he let their sides touch in the cocoon he created.

"Potter, I think we must speak," he said softly, after he had finished arranging the robe.

Harry nodded again, and tried desperately not to think about the awkwardness of the situation.

"What do you want to talk about, sir?" he asked lowering his eyes to his knees.

"Do you remember the question you asked me yesterday?"

"Was it yesterday we had that talk?" Harry asked in mock incredulity. "It seems to me as if it had been two or more days before. Or years before..."

"Time is cheating on us, Potter," Snape smiled weakly. "But about my question. Do you remember..."

"Which question, sir?" Harry interrupted him and yawned. "We had quite a long talk with many questions."

"Your question I want to answer now was related to my Death Eater's affairs," Snape explained tiredly.

"Oh," Harry shuddered. "And... sir... why do you want to talk about it?"

Snape ran a hand back through his hair. Really, why? But he shrugged this thought off.

"I think it's better for both of us if I inform you about it instead of Voldemort. Don't you think?"

"Certainly, sir. But you don't need to talk about it if you don't want. I know what Voldemort's purpose is... And I won't blame you, sir, whatever he will say about you and whatever he will do to me. I don't care. I don't believe him anyway."

Snape lowered his head unable to speak. There were too many similarities between Potter and Quietus, and these similarities were tormenting him. The selflessness, the warm heart, the thoughtfulness, the caring... And he had hated this boy for four long years... and he certainly would have continued hating him until his last year without this 'accident'. An uncertain feeling rose in his chest before fading and he could feel his heart hurting.

Everything was so strange... He WAS an evil bastard and he wasn't supposed to behave like this! He was not supposed to have heart! Not to mention an aching heart! But he couldn't change his feeling. Didn't even wanted any more, he realised.

"Look," he began slowly, not knowing precisely, how to continue. "I appreciate your trust but... I really don't deserve it. And Voldemort knows that."

"Professor," Harry interrupted him again in a stern tone. "I don't think this is the place we have to talk about deserving. _That_ is meaningless. I surely won't care about Voldemort's words and I trust you because... because you are with me in this hell, and you took this situation on yourself just because of me.  I have no reason not to trust you," he mumbled the last words uncertainly. He hadn't really known until this point. why he was trusting in Snape. But his words made sense.

Snape stared at the boy in curiosity. How old is he? Thirty? Forty? It was impossible that he was only 15. He shook his head.

"Stop, Potter, please," he finally managed to open his mouth. "I've decided to tell you and I want to tell you. On the other hand, I will tell you all this because I trust you too. Do you understand?"

Harry lifted his eyes to Snape's.

"Thank you, sir," he said and blushed slightly.

Their mutual confessions hushed them, and Harry moved spontaneously closer to the warmness of Snape's body. He felt the trembling subside, and his muscles accepted this small fact with great relief.

Snape leaned against the wall, but didn't move away; his eyes were unfocused.

"I was 18 when I joined Voldemort, right after that I'd graduated from Hogwarts. I did it freely and willingly, nobody forced or coaxed me to do it. Neither did my parents; although they were followers of Voldemort from the very beginning and they were delighted by my idea. So, I have no excuses. I am fully responsible for my decision." Snape stopped a while, then took a deep breath and went on. "I made my first step in this way when I was 11, and was sorted. The Sorting Hat asked me if I wanted to be Ravenclaw as many members of my family had been, but I insisted to be a Slytherin so I was put there. My parents were happy when I told them my conversation with the hat, and I was proud. This was the first lost battle."

"Sir, is it _really_ so important which house you belong to?" Harry asked in the short silence.

Snape cast a surprised look at him.

"Good question. We'd had quite a lot of arguments about this question with Alb... er... Headmaster Dumbledore, and he'd always insisted that the importance is not as great as I imagine."

"Our present situation is a proof for his statement, isn't it?" Harry smiled.

"Why?" Snape was confused.

"I am a Gryffindor, you are a Slytherin and we have the same fate nonetheless, don't we?"

"Potter, the reasons that led us here are totally different!" Snape replied irritated. Harry smirked.

"Well... I have NO reasons to be here, it was a mere accident that they caught me, I've never done anything willingly to be here. But _you_, professor, _you _decided to share my fate. It's very Gryffindor of you, isn't it?"

"Potter," Snape's tone was amused and a little bit sad. "I am not a Gryffindor. I am a Slytherin. I am here more because of an oath, rather than because of my brave heart. Stop thinking me better than I am."

"I don't think that werewolf-incident and my father's help are sufficient reasons for you to protect me. My father tried to save Sirius and professor Lupin more than you in that situation. So, in my opinion, you don't have any life debt towards me. And nevertheless, you saved my life and you are with me now."

Snape shook his head.

"Stop. You are jumping to conclusions. First: your father saved my life and even though he was saving his friends' lives as well, that is not important. A life debt is a life debt, whatever your saver's reasons were. Second, you have to know that I didn't try to protect you because of your father. I'd worked that debt off long before. I had another reason. As I said to you I made an oath."

"To whom?"

"To your mother."

The boy lifted his head and looked at his professor. Their faces were very close now, so Harry could see Snape's expression perfectly.

"Did you know my mother?" he asked incredulously.

"Not really. I knew her from school but I'd never spoken with her. You know, in my eyes she was just a mudblood... a muggleborn witch after all... And me..."

"I see," Harry felt an immense delusion narrowing his aching chest. Mudblood! Snape had said: '_mudblood witch_'! He shook his head many times to wipe away his strong hurt feelings, but he couldn't. It hurt too much.

"Potter," Snape touched his hand slightly. "I told you that I was not a good guy. I've never been. But when I said now '_mudblood_' I intended to express the way I was thinking _then_. Not now. Really."

Harry couldn't say a word, just nodded. Tears tried to burst out of his eyes, but  he clenched his teeth and fought to keep them back.

"Potter, I didn't intend to hurt you, I am sorry," he could hear Snape's apologising voice as if from a distance. He needed some time to regain his composure though.

"Please, sir. Go on," he said, when he could think again.

Snape nodded, his eyes looked at Harry worriedly.

"So your mother forced me to make that oath."

"When?"

"When I went to their house to inform them about Voldemort's plans against them. In August, if I remember correctly. They decided to use the Fidelius charm afterwards."

"And how could she force you? It's hard to believe. You are much stronger, and as a… Death Eater you have to be a good dueller too."

"Er..." Snape cracked a half-smile. "You are right. But I was unsuspecting. I found her alone in the house. I informed her and when I turned to leave I could feel her wand pointing to my neck."

"Did she attack _you_!?" Harry couldn't help but cried out the last word.

"Well... yes. Then she forced me to swear to protect you in case they'd die."

"And... why did she want you and not anybody else?" Harry asked curiously.

"I don't know. Perhaps because of my role as a spy... she thought I could protect you more effectively than anyone else. She couldn't have known that Voldemort would be vanished just after her death..."

Harry nodded wondering.

"Yeah... Sure. Just so... strange."

"To me too. And until you came to Hogwarts I didn't have the chance to fulfil my duty. Albus told me that you are safe with your relatives. But afterwards..."

"Is it a permanent oath?" Harry interrupted him again.

"How do you mean permanent?" Snape asked in return.

"Do you have to protect me until your or my death?" Snape nodded reluctantly. "Oh, it's so... amusing," Harry mumbled. "YOU were my sworn protector over all these years..."

Snape shifted uncomfortably.

"Er... yes."

Harry seemed oblivious to his discomfort.

"It couldn't be easy," he mused. "You... didn't like me and then again, you were _forced _to protect me..."

"It wasn't easy, really," the professor assured him smirking.

"I'd have never guessed it." Harry said as he thought of the Potions' lessons. Certainly, a protector was expected to act in a friendlier, or more so, _protective_ manner...

"I never understood your mother," Snape spoke up. "She knew me enough not to trust me, like everybody else. I've always been an arrogant, cruel bastard, from a pureblood noble wizarding family, a Slytherin, a follower of Voldemort, a murderer, who deserved to rot in Azkaban till the end of his days, amen. And she forced _me_ to protect _you_, son of a muggleborn and James Potter, a Gryffindor, a faithful partner of Albus Dumbledore, an Auror of the Order of Phoenix, a saviour! Not to mention the fact that your father and I had always loathed each other, from the very first moment we'd met! It was a continuous anger for me for 14 years."

"Oh," Harry curled his lips amused. "_This_ was the reason!"

The professor lowered his head.

"Yes. But I'd say now this way: this _was_ the reason. And Albus had always been so insistent  to know you better. To know the person I had to protect almost in my whole life. But I didn't want it. I felt ashamed of my unwanted task, of this whole impossible situation! And I couldn't do anything against it! Your mother's death made my oath absolute and irrevocable."

"Nobody can withdraw it? Neither can I?" Harry asked suddenly.

"You would?" Snape was stunned. "Why...?"

"Just to let you live your life, sir," the boy said simply.

"You can't withdraw it until you turn 25 or get married."

"Do you mean that I have to hurry to marry someone?" Harry's eyes were twinkling.

"No," the professor smiled. "I don't expect you to marry. I cannot believe you could find any appropriate person here, in Nightmare Manor, anyway." They smiled to each other. "And... to tell you the truth I don't want anybody, especially you to withdraw my oath any more."

"You mean...?" Harry seemed frozen, his eyes widened in surprise.

"I mean that Albus was right. I should have tried to get to know you. It would have been better for both of us. Especially for me."

Harry blushed.

"Why did you say that?"

"Because you are a good kid, Harry and I wish I could protect you in this situation, but I can't. I am sorry."

They were sitting in thoughts. Then Harry decided to ask about his parents.

"Sir?" he said cautiously. He didn't want to disturb the professor, but the man didn't seem to be disturbed.

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me about my... my parents?"

"Look, Potter, I didn't know them very well. As I said I've never really spoken to your mother, except for that case if you intend to call it 'talking'... She was a Ravenclaw, a cunning and talented girl, two years younger, than your father and me. I don't remember precisely since when they started dating, possibly your father's last year." Some moments later, he added. "They were not together in our fifth year yet. I'm sure."

"Why, sir?"

Snape smirked.

"It was the year that that famous werewolf incident happened, Potter. Before that, we were always at each other's throat. I'd have noticed if they had been dating somebody, but they weren't. None of them. Then I left their tracking."

"Were you scared?" Harry asked incredulously. "I've never suspected..."

"No, I wasn't scared of them. I had other reasons."

"May I ask...?"

"Why not? I was dating Anne-Marie Black at that time. In reality that was the main reason of Sirius Black's little 'prank.' He wanted to save his beloved sister from the slimy Slytherin. First, he tried to convince Anne that I was a dark wizard, a servant of Voldemort and so on." Snape turned his head to Harry. "At that time I wasn't, not yet. And after the werewolf incident, Anne had a very big quarrel with his brother in the Gryffindor Tower. And we remained together."

"Were You dating a Gryffindor?" Snape could see the surprise in Harry's eyes.

"Anne was a Ravenclaw like your mother. In my family there were many Ravenclaws. It was an accepted relationship by my parents and by Anne's parents too."

"They agreed? How?"

Snape chuckled.

"The tradition, Potter."

"I don't understand," Harry said a little angrily.

"Well, I will try to explain. There are a lot of families in the wizarding world, and, as you surely know, most of them are a 'mixed' family, which means that one of the couple is muggle-born. There are a few couples where both members of the couple are muggle-born. And there are the pureblood families."

"I know it. Ron told me about this."

"Did your friend tell you about the ranking of the pureblood families too?"

"Ranking? How do you mean?"

"There are two parts of pureblood families: the noble and the common families."

Harry nodded.

"I see. Your family was a noble one and Anne's parents, as members of a common family, were happy about his daughter's luck, weren't they?"

"You are almost right, Potter. Anne's parents were happy, but they had other reason for happiness. The Black family, like the Snape, is one of the oldest wizarding noble families in England. And even if now it is an accepted fact that noble descendants marry members of a common family, possibly not a Muggleborn, for the most part, high-rank wizard society supports the noble-noble marriage."

"The muggles too have traditions like this," Harry mumbled confusedly. "I've never thought..." after a short break he asked. "My mother was a muggle-born, I know. And my father's family? It was a common rank family, wasn't it?"

Snape felt the bitterness in the boy's voice.

"Yes, but what does it mean? Nothing, Harry. Believe me," he sighed and continued. "No matter how much I detested your father, I have to tell you that he was clever and brave as much as your mother. They were strong and faithful, both of them. As you are."

"Why did I never hear of Sirius' sister?" Harry went on quickly not intending to blush again.

Snape's face darkened.

"She had died before you were born."

"So... sorry, sir," Harry stuttered nervously.

"It's all right, Potter," Snape sighed. "But if we decide to go on with this chat about the past, we will meet more death than you can imagine. Those were the darkest years of this century."

"Why do I have the feeling that the upcoming years will be worse that those?" Harry shuddered.

"If we will live to see it."

"Even if we don't see, it could be worse, sir." Harry yawned. "I am sorry, professor, but I think I'll sleep a little bit before the evening show," he mumbled as he tried to curl more tightly against the cell's sharp coldness.

When he fell asleep, Snape arranged his cloak more tightly over the shivering boy and tried not to think of the future.

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"Arthur!" Molly Weasley's voice was nearly a scream. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Wha...what, darling?" her husband asked sleepily. It was early morning and Arthur Weasley had awakened only five minutes before. He tried to suppress a yawn as he sat next to his wife to the desk. "Molly, where is the jam?" he asked when he tried to have some breakfast.

"Why didn't you tell me? I AM sure you DID know it!" Mrs Weasley yelled and her husband tried to avoid the answer.

"What do you want to hear about, darling?" he asked politely, but didn't stop looking for the jam over the desk's mess. His toast began to cool down.

"Harry's lost! And you didn't tell me."

"How do you know?" Mr. Weasley awakened instantly, jam forgotten.

"The Daily Prophet," Molly pointed to the newspaper. Behind the frontline, there was a large magical photo with helplessly wandering people in Privet Drive 4. Molly could see Harry's uncle and aunt on the picture, but they didn't seem to be too happy with the attention. Harry's uncle was clearly annoyed; his aunt cast worried glances around the neighbours. But she couldn't see Dudley at all. He was presumably in his room holding his ass in his hands cautiously, or covering his mouth his palm. "Did you know about it, Arthur?"

His husband blushed.

"Er... Molly... you know..."

"So you DID know and you DIDN'T tell me. Why, if I may ask you?"

Mr. Weasley stared at his wife helplessly.

"I didn't want you to worry. We strongly hoped that he'd turn up..."

"You don't tell me that seriously! With times like these!" She became suddenly very pale. "Arthur... You-know-who took him, didn't he?"

"We don't know, Molly. We don't have any information about the boy. Fudge's opinion is that Dumbledore has hidden him, but he insisted that he didn't know where the boy was, and I believe him. He is not afraid of the Minister and he would have said if he had known something about Harry."

"So it was HIM. How?"

"There was some sort of family quarrel at the Dursley's, and in the end of that, the boy stormed out of the house. Since then, nobody saw him."

"Since when?"

"For three days," Mr. Weasley lowered his head under his wife's piercing gaze.

"Well. What should we say to the kids?" the red-haired woman sighed finally.

"Perhaps we could keep it in secret..." Arthur answered hesitantly.

"Arthur. They know READING and they have plenty of friends. WE must inform them or they will know in their own way."

"You are right, Molly, as always," Mr Weasley nodded.

"Mum, what's on?" a sleepy voice suddenly came from the stairs.

Fred was standing on the top of the stairs scrubbing his eyes.

The parents exchanged significant glances and Mr. Weasley gave it up.

"Your mother will tell you everything, at breakfast." Ignoring his wife's glare he kissed her on her forehead. "I must go now. See you in the afternoon, darling."

"In the evening, you mean," Mrs. Weasley mumbled nervously. "Or are you going to hurry home?"

"It's not my fault, Molly," Mr. Weasley apologised.

They both sighed.

"I know. Go now," she said finally.

After her husband left the house, Mrs. Weasley felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Is there something wrong, Mum?" Fred asked gently.

"Harry's lost, Fred, three days ago."

Fred froze. His hand trembled.

"No. It's not true... Mum, tell me, it's not true... What will Ron do, if...?"

"What should I do?" a newer voice asked.

It was Ron.

Mrs Weasley and Fred were just standing there in perfect silence. They didn't dare say anything.

Ron became suspicious.

"Hey, what's on now?" he raised an eyebrow curiously. "What's happened? Mum?"

"Darling, come here," Mrs. Weasley replied and folded her embarrassed son in a strong hug. "Harry has turned up lost… three days ago," she mumbled into Ron's ear. She needed all her powers to hold his son's abruptly limp body from falling down.

"Sit down, darling," she said quietly and eased Ron to a chair with Fred's help. Both boys seemed extremely pale, but Ron was in worse condition.

"He... he is not dead, is he?" Ron asked shaking.

"We don't know, darling."

"It was You-know-who." It was not a question.

"We don't know that either, Ron. Although I am quite sure about it."

She tightened her embrace and began to rock her son.

"We don't know I am sorry."

"I don't want him to die, Mum!" he cried helplessly. "He won't die, Mum, tell me he won't die?" he repeated again and again and a silent sob shook his body.

"He won't, Ron. He surely won't," Mrs. Weasley carefully stroked her son's hair. "He will return, you will see!"

And she, not being able to push back her tears, buried her face into her son's hair.

"He will return."

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	5. Dignity until the End

Betaed by Lliey Gemini

Revised: 17-12-03

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**Chapter 5 - Dignity until the End**

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Snape felt he'd never been tormented so hard before, though he was just standing next to Voldemort watching Harry's mostly silent torture for hours. He noticed that the physical abuses were the more difficult to observe impotently, even if he  knew precisely that the curses were much more painful and excruciating. But the mere sight of somebody touching Harry, and harming him with their hands, was achingly unbearable. He'd never felt this way before: his heart was racing, his palm sweating, nausea suffocated his throat and he hurt. Hurt. It was strange, nobody even touched him, and he hurt nevertheless, an absolutely physical pain tormented him.

They forced him to see Avery's 'work' with the razor, the always larger and larger pool of blood under the boy's slightly shivering and totally naked body. Sometimes, Harry opened his eyes, looking for help to his gaze and obviously relieved whenever he could catch his sight.

But somehow, every cut hurt Snape, much more than the hexes,  than the beatings, than the Cruciatus he had received during his own torture sessions, and he felt his heart ripped in two.

"Aaaaaaah!" Harry moaned when Avery cautiously opened the next cut with his fingers. Snape cringed.

"My, my, Severus. Don't you like my little performance! Why? I remember the time when you found pleasure to watch it! I've planned it just for your enjoyment!"

Snape was staring desperately at the boy's face, he didn't want to talk with Voldemort about it, he didn't want to remember past sins, the present situation was painful enough, and most of all, he didn't want to talk to Voldemort or anybody else at all.

"Why do I have the feeling I've already seen a very similar scene? You, staring at a boy cowardly... a boy braver than you ever were... Do you have this déja vu feeling too, Severus?"

Voldemort's words entered his mind, reinforcing his own reflections and tentative thoughts, and Snape had to fight his desperation to not be visible. The damned bastard was right. He was a coward. And Harry's behaviour was really like Quietus's. But he had already noticed it, long ago, in the very beginning of this all... 

During the sessions and the conversations in the cell, Harry had acted so similar to Quietus, the only person Snape really appreciated and loved with his whole heart, Quietus, the little and cunning Quietus, the warm and caring Quietus, who stood before the Dark Lord bleeding and tottering but without fear saying 'I will never be yours' and he had been right.

Quietus who died right here, in Nightmare Manor, in the Main Hall after the sixth round and he, Severus was not able to help him...

The day Snape decided to die.

His hatred of Moody, the bloody Auror, was a consequence of it too: in the lonely darkness of Azkaban, where he had to stay for six months, he relived endless times those horrible moments of his life: Quietus's dying, his moaning and jerking and shaking over the immense pain laid on him and finally his brother's lifeless body in the centre of the hall... It was an endless movie in his mind, he could see the whole event from the first moment until the burial in Hogsmeade's cemetery, and he knew that everything had been burned into his eyes, into his mind, pictures, he could never forget, he would never not recall.

Voldemort had seen that show only once. But for him, it was all too familiar. A boy standing in the centre of the hall with dignity, head up, eyes open. Black eyes - and green eyes. Quietus's eyes and Harry's eyes.

Snape didn't notice the tears on his face as he stood straight, with eyes wide open in terror. He felt almost in a trance, Harry's face suddenly transformed into Quietus's and back; he could see the painful gaze, painful, but full of life, acceptation, forgiving. Pain without breaking, power without aggression, death without fear...

"I am really satisfied, my dear professor that you finally enjoy it," he could hear the Greatest Bastard murmured words to his ears and then he noticed his tears too. He didn't wipe them though. It was already too late: Voldemort had noticed his weakness: his feelings towards the boy. Most probably, he betrayed Harry with his behaviour, but he couldn't help it. He tried to give his power to the boy somehow, through their gazes, to support him mentally, he desperately wanted to be in Harry's place to take his pains, to give his life for the boy's... To save him...

And he couldn't. Lily's words were clearly ringing in his ears: 'Swear! Swear on Quietus' name, you monster!' and he had sworn and now, he was just not able to help... 'Say: I will protect him with my life's sake' - and he had sworn for Quietus, because Lily Evans had known that it had been the only oath he would never break...

That oath now seemed to be so far away... and it didn't matter any more. It wasn't important any more. He was suffering because of Harry, just Harry, nobody else. It didn't matter his oath, his dead brother. Only this young, helpless boy standing in his own blood, dying in front of him.

He desperately wanted to save Harry for his sake, not for Lily's or Quietus's. They were dead. The boy was alive. Still.

When Harry finally collapsed, Snape immediately left his place and kneeled next to him screaming in his head as he stared at Harry's body. He wanted to lift him from the floor, but he couldn't find any harmless place on him to grasp, to touch without causing even more pain...

But Voldemort ordered them to leave to their cell, so he lifted Harry carefully into his arms, leaned his head on his shoulders, wrapped him with his own clothes as much as he could and carried him to the cell.

He sat in _their_ familiar corner, still holding the child in his arms, his tears mixed with the boy's blood. He enveloped themselves in his cloak and tried desperately to pray to any god for help. He absentmindedly stroked the boy's hair and repeated at least hundred times, monotonously:

"Everything will be all right, Harry, everything will be all right..."

But he couldn't believe his own words any more. Even if they somehow would manage to survive all these days of torture, the boy would be compelled to live together with all of this, with the memory, and the pain, because there would always be pain: Voldemort's handiwork wasn't fully curable. Nothing would be the same. 'Nevermore. Nevermore' croaked Poe's raven in his mind. If they survived he would have to find a way to get Harry through it, if it was possible at all.

No it wasn't.

He was put under the Cruciatus only a few occasions but it had always been harder to bear with it in the consequent nightmares than awake, , harder – no, not physically but mentally and emotionally: the total defencelessness, humiliation, dread had been much more accentuated in dreams. In these nightmares, he always knew what would happen next, it was inevitable: his nightmares followed closely the burned-in scenes... And during the past 14 years he simply couldn't learn how to escape from them, how to wake up. He always had to relive them in their entirety.

Nightmares... and this was the living nightmare, the Manor of Nightmare. Damn the Great Bastard! And there was no escape. No awakening.

After a while, he felt calmer, and his tears dried up from his face. Harry's bleeding ceased but he felt him shivering because of the loss of blood. Snape lowered his head and bundled them as completely as he could to keep the heat inside.

He was exhausted and deadly tired, but he couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Harry suffering in silence or staring at him hopelessly, and from time to time these pictures were mixed with the scenes of Quietus's sufferings... He wrapped his arms more tightly around the boy, as if he could protect him from the following days' possibly horribly similar events...

His nightmares began now even without sleeping.

Damn it!

Suddenly, he felt a little shifting in his lap.

"Harry?" he whispered quietly.

"It hurts," the child quivered`. "Everything is burning... All my body... skin..."

"Sssssh," he rocked the helpless boy cautiously. "Try to have some rest."

"Professor," he began weakly. "I think I will die... I am sorry..."

"Everything will be all right, Harry. Just have some rest." Snape felt horrified by the boy's words. He repeated the sentence, trying to reassure Harry and himself too. "No, Harry. You won't die. Everything will be all right. Believe me."

"I am sorry..." he could hear the soft mumbling. "I will leave you alone, and I am sorry for that..."

"No, Harry," he began, but he couldn't continue. He felt stifled, there was no air in his lungs to say any more word, but tightened his embrace as if he would be able to protect Harry physically from... No. Harry couldn't die. He HAD to live, to survive.

When the boy's body finally went limp in his arms, he was shocked to death and unable to think for a very long moment. '_No!_' he cried soundlessly.

It took some time for him to realise that the boy was only unconscious, not dead. His miscellaneous feelings tormented him, and felt sick and dizzy. But he didn't dare to move, to put the boy off from his lap, his hands. His newly found feelings warmed his heart, the strong wish to protect, to care for Harry was unthinkably powerful.

In the beginning of their captivity, he had sworn to himself he wouldn't hurt the boy any more. Now, he could feel that it wasn't enough. Sitting in the corner with the boy in his lap, he made another oath, a stronger one this time: he would care for the boy until his or Harry's death. He would help him in every possible way he could. He would try to be there for him. Until the end of their days. Amen. 

An evil voice snickered in his head. '_You are so sentimental, Severus. Perhaps you are getting old. Or do you think that it is going to be an oath easy to maintain? The boy will die in some hours anyway, won't he?_' He had to fight with his old reflexes that wanted him to return his normal mood of sarcasm and indifference. '_NO!_' he silenced the inward thoughts. What was the meaning to be indifferent in the face of death? The boy deserved more than his indifference, cruelty, sarcasm and hatred. He was suffering all of them during the last years. NOW he had to give Harry the choice to take some comfort, care... love?

Oh, the last sounded perfectly ridiculous. He and love! He didn't know how to love someone. He couldn't love Quietus either. If he had known... Perhaps Quietus would have been alive now.

If he'd known how to love he wouldn't have been here. He wouldn't have become a Death Eater. He would have chosen Ravenclaw as the Sorting Hat had advised. He would have worked for the Ministry or Albus from the first moment... Perhaps he would have had a family too... children...

The mere thought shocked him. Had he really missed so much? Had he really wanted to become the person he was now? A loner, hating and hated bastard, the follower of a monster, a professional tormentor, a murderer of innocent people?

It was true he'd never wanted to live an average life, to have a typical way of living but... Wasn't it a little bit exaggerated? The life he finally lived until now was typical too, in a very perverse sense after all...

No. He would never be able to get enough penitence for what he'd done. Not in this hell either. He would never be forgiven.

These thoughts tormented him. Had Voldemort intended to achieve this by putting them together? Had the bastard suspected what would happen? That he would break him by his own feelings, his own self-loathing, own guilt?

He lifted up his head when he heard the door creaking angrily as it swung open. Avery stepped in.

"What do you want?" Snape barked with full hatred. "He is nearly dead. If you plan to continue your session I have to warn you he won't feel it."

Avery shrugged with an evil grin on his face. Times like this Snape had the feeling that the man wasn't normal. But strangely, his craziness seemed to overcome him only when it was needed.

"I am here to prolong his suffering, Severus," he showed two little bottles to the Potions Master and waved them in front of his face. "Do you know them I think?" he asked in feigned curiosity.

Snape knew them, of course. An Anti-Bleeding and a Strengthening Fusion. He had brewed those potions, like all the others they used in Voldemort's service. But he didn't know what Harry's real interest was: to receive the healing potions or to die.

But he desperately wanted Harry to live. He wanted to care for him, to comfort him, simply _to be_. And he wanted the boy to forgive him, at least Harry; he was still alive unlike so many others he would have owed more than an apology...

"Give them to me," he said finally to the waiting Death Eater.

"No. I will give them to him. I don't trust you, Severus."

Two other Death Eaters came in.

"Lay the boy on the floor."

He didn't want to obey but just as he opened his mouth to protest Avery snapped annoyed.

"If you don't obey, I'll throw Cruciatus on both of you."

Snape shuddered to this thought and placed the boy to the floor carefully.

"Move aside!"

As he lifted his leg to step away, he suddenly heard a whispered 'Crucio' and in the next moment he found himself jerking on the floor. It was a very long Cruciatus, it lasted until Avery made the boy to swallow the content of the small vials. After their leaving, Snape wasn't able to move for long minutes. His head was aching, his eyes burning, his muscles spasm. Finally, he forced his body to creep to Harry.

He could feel the scent of the potions in the air, and he felt confirmed: that one of them was the strengthening draught, and the other a more specialised potion for cases of severe blood loss like this. Suddenly, he felt very pleased with himself for being so accurate. They would have never found these potions in a mess, but in his office, everything was indexed and put in a straight order.

Next to the boy, he found the remainders of his clothes too, Avery apparently brought them to the boy, but the pieces weren't only ridiculous, bloody rags, nothing more. Yes, lifting up a piece of a something that had once been a piece of clothe, he remembered Avery's excruciatingly slow moves as he undressed Harry with the razor cutting the boy several times purposely during this "introduction." His stomach churned for the mere thought. He sighed and sat down lifting Harry again to his lap.

After a while he fell asleep.

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Harry woke with a start. He felt a strange move around his chest, as if somebody had tightened a grasp around him and a hand grabbed his arm.

"Wait... Quietus... wait!" he heard.

As Harry opened his eyes he could see Snape's face lingering in front of his own, frowning in an apparently horrid dream. In the next instant, he realised that the reason he could see his professor's face properly was that he was lying on his lap, nestled to his chest and his arms were embracing him. Embracing? No, it's better to say that pressing him as if the man wanted to protect him, or to stop him.

It was REALLY a strange situation. It was clearly embarrassing.

But in the same time, it was so comforting and so... different from the previous days' brutality, quite the opposite of them. It was something good he'd never felt before, something like if he were a little child his parent's arms.

His skin was still burning, and when he stirred he could remember immediately every cut of the day before, feeling each of them throbbing sharply. The sudden pain hit him with an unexpected force, and he jerked. The jerking was painful again. For an instant, Harry was gasping for breath and he clutched the professor's robes closing his eyes.

"Are you awake?" he heard a whispered question. Harry just nodded fighting against the pain. "Do you feel better?" he heard Snape's concerned voice.

After he could breathe again he responded.

"A little bit, sir. But..." he didn't know what to say. "It hurts a lot. The cuts..." He felt Snape shuddering.

"Yes, I can imagine, Harry. I had to watch the whole procedure of yours. Try to stay calm. It will help. They gave you some healing potions. You'll feel better."

Harry closed his eyes in thought. After a while he opened his mouth.

"I..." he spoke up, but in the end, he didn't finish the sentence.

"Yes?"

"I thought I would die, sir. I wanted to. I tried to fight against it but... I was weak."

"No," Snape answered abruptly. "You were not weak. You were strong, extremely strong. Stronger than anybody I'd ever seen before."

"But... I couldn't feel the pain as a sign of my power or a remainder. I... just wanted it to be finished. If you hadn't been there, I'd have surely failed."

"Harry, you endured. You held the pain with dignity. You were brave and strong."

"But I wanted to die."

"That's not a sign of your weakness. It's a natural reaction from the torture."

"You said that I mustn't give up. I mustn't trade my soul."

"Potter," Snape sighed a little bit annoyed. "The natural wish to have the pain be ended is not the same as to trade your soul. You betray yourself when you are prompt to do anything against your will just to let the torture be finished. But... it's very hard to explain the difference."

"I see," Harry smiled weakly. Then he added. "But I think I understand what you mean."

Harry realised that his eyes were still closed. He opened them cautiously and studied the man's face in the flickering torchlight. He felt his mouth extremely dry as he tried to swallow.

"Sir, I am thirsty," he whispered.

"I'll bring you water," Snape offered, but Harry shook his head.

"No, I think it would be good to stretch myself a little bit. And I have to use the loo anyway."

"Well, then..." Harry could see Snape's embarrassed expression. "But you are naked, Harry. And I think your clothes are... er… not suitable for wearing any more."

Harry shut his eyes and furrowed his head to Snape's shoulder. The mention of his nakedness didn't embarrass him, but it recalled Avery's image with the razor in his hand in his mind, and his helplessness and panic, he had felt looking at the man, because he hadn't known what to wait. And the first cuts, the first bites of the razor, the first slashes. He was shaking in aftershock.

Snape's arms tightened again around him, and the man began to rock him, slowly, back and forth and back and forth, like parents comfort a little baby, until he calmed down again. But Snape didn't release him immediately, he held him for some more minutes, and Harry felt as if he was in a dream, and he didn't want to wake up.

But the thirst didn't let him. When he tried to swallow the bitter saliva in his mouth, he just gagged his throat was so dry.

"You can let me go. I have to drink," Harry murmured softly and the professor nodded and cautiously released him. Even if he felt dizzy and weak, Harry stood up and tottered to the heap of his one-time clothes.

"Sir, I think 'not suitable' is an understatement," he sounded amused and grinned as he lifted something that was a tee-shirt in its youth. Decades ago, perhaps. It was dirty, bloody and was ripped into stripes by the razor.And his slacks... were no longer wearable. Harry sighed as he tried to dress nevertheless. He didn't dare look at his body, knowing all too well that the slashes on his skin followed perfectly the stripes' patterns, but after he had put them on, the 'clothes' began to irritate his burning cuts. Finally, he couldn't help but measure himself and he had to confess that his sight was much worse than he had expected.

"Harry..." 

He turned to Snape. The man was so kind to him now. The way he had held him, rocked him… Harry felt his heart warming towards the monster of the dungeons. And even now, the professor was concerned about him, because he was handing Harry a piece of his robes.

"What...?" he asked in slight confusion.

"My sweatshirt... short of..." the Potions Master grinned. The grin was definitely awkward on his face. "Or it was that... some days ago."

Harry furrowed his brows.

"But... you need it too, sir."

"Take it, Harry. You need it more."

They were staring at each other for a long time.

"I can't," Harry finally said. "It's yours. But thanks nevertheless."

"You're mental, Potter. Take it or I will resort to violence to dress you," he sneered in mock anger. Harry rolled his eyes, but accepted it, and with a swift movement he put it on.

The sweatshirt was warm and still soft, but too big, like Dudley's handovers. Despite his pains Harry had to laugh as he finally measured himself again.

"I seem ridiculous," he said. Yes, he was. Snape's sweatshirt was long almost to his knees; the sleeves were nearly two times longer than his arms, so he had to roll them up. Under the sweater the long strips of his slacks floated around his legs... All in all he looked worse than Ron in the last Yule Ball in his dress robes. He had to snicker. "And I have no shoes."

"Nor have I," Snape nodded. "I don't even remember wearing shoes since we got here."

Harry nodded, and finally headed to do that he had wanted for quite a long, and drank. The jar was only half-full, so he sipped only a few draughts, but Snape barked at him.

"Drink more!"

"I have to spare the water," Harry protested.

"Not now. You need liquid in your organs to recuperate."

Harry didn't argue, but drank some more. Some minutes later he returned  to the corner Snape sat. He was not sure what he should do, so he lowered himself  next to his professor.

"Come nearer, Harry. You'll be cold," Snape said in an unexpectedly kind voice, but Harry didn't dare to move. He heard the professor sighing as the man shifted and slipped closer to him and pulled the cloak around them as he had done the day before. "We have no proper clothes. If we don't intend to get a cold to add some more to our problems, we have to get warm somehow. Is that clear?"

Harry just nodded, but he felt much better when an arm sneaked around his shoulders. It was again... as he would be a child and the professor the parent. He shut his eyes and leaned into the offered warmth.

Snape was a little surprised when the boy cuddled to him.

"Are you all right?" he asked cautiously.

"I don't think I'll ever be all right again," Harry said and yawned. A moment later he added "I mean even if I survive this somehow, I guess I would never be able to... to get through of all of it. It's just too much… but now, I am all right. You are so... nice with me now. And this is so strange but good... something like belonging..." he mumbled embarrassed.

Snape shifted in fluster and couldn't answer anything.

"Who is Quietus?" Harry asked softly after a while.

"How do you know...?" Snape's voice was sharp for a moment, but he immediately regretted the tone. Harry's reaction was fast.

"Sorry, sir," he lowered his head and moved away.

"You don't have to apologise, Harry," Snape tightened his embrace for an instant reassuring and retaining Harry in the same time. "I was just a little bit... surprised that you know about him."

"Your nightmares..." Harry breathed. "And yesterday when you woke up you called me that name. Did you mix me up with him?"

Suddenly, Snape remembered the caress... the kindness of the boy, who had touched him, the meanest professor of the school, the man who had treated Harry like shit for years, the murderer... Was it THAT kindness, which caused the change of his feelings from tolerating the boy to caring for him? It seemed that every good thing in his life was somehow related to Quietus...

"Quietus was my brother," he answered quietly. "And you remind me of him sometimes," he added after a second.

"Has he... died?" Harry asked as silently as he could. Snape just nodded. "How...?"

"Voldemort killed him," Harry could see the professor's teeth clenched. Snape closed his eyes and took some deep breath to calm himself down. "He killed him here, in Nightmare Manor in the Main Hall after six rounds of torture because he refused to join him, and my father had decided to force him. Finally, he defied Voldemort, and he killed him."

Again, the pictures appeared in front of his eyes like they had done since Azkaban. Quietus dying... the funeral... He absentmindedly tightened his embrace around Harry... around Quietus... for a moment, he really believed that he was sitting next to his brother. As he realised that it was Harry he was holding, he tried to release him embarrassed, but then he felt a pair of arms wrapping around his chest comforting him. This manifestation of care hushed his embarrassment,  and for long minutes, they were just sitting and holding each other in silence.

"You are as brave as him..." he muttered silently. "As you endured the tortures, the pain, as you faced death with dignity... you are just like him."

Harry couldn't say anything. It seemed that every topic would end with the death of somebody related somehow to his Potions Master... His lover, and now, his brother... Just like he'd said. '_But if we decide to go on this talking about the past, we will meet more death than you can imagine._' Perhaps this was the reason of the Potions Master's cold and sarcastic behaviour... the losses he had in his life...

"Professor?" he asked suddenly.

"Hm-mm?" Snape hummed absentmindedly.

"Why is dignity so important? If I have to die is it not the same?"

"Well... er... from a strictly materialistic point of view perhaps," Snape answered perplexed.

"You mean Dumbledore's words?"

"Which words?" the professor asked curiously.

"'_To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure._' He told me after my adventures with Quirrell."

"No. I didn't want to talk about some kind of afterlife. I don't know what to believe about it. It's something different..." he sighed. "I think I learnt it from Quietus. We all are going to die sooner or later. We can never be sure when. So we have to live our lives so that we would never regret to..."

"Did you regret your life, sir?" Harry wasn't sure if it was a wise question, perhaps not, but it was already out. He prepared for a sharp rejection, but Snape just jerked.

"Many times, yes. I regret many things. But that's another story. I don't regret my lost dignity, because I was never forced to lose it. I regret other things."

"Oh... But if I am completely sure that I would die why couldn't I just give up?"

"Harry, listen," Snape sighed deeply. "It's very hard to explain. I try to give you an example, but that won't be the perfect answer to your question. I'm afraid that perfect answer doesn't actually exist. Right?"

"Right, sir," the boy responded meekly.

"I said that Voldemort killed my brother." Harry nodded. "I had to participate in that torture from the very first moment. Like your case..." Harry could again feel the shivering of the professor's body. "I was one of his tormentors, though I loved him more than anybody else in my life. Or it's better to say: he was the only one I really cared about and loved. And then again, I was one of those, who made him suffer. He endured with dignity and THEN I understood how misled my life was. His death showed me something about life I'd never known. The light. The meaning. To being human."

"I think I understand, sir," Harry answered almost inaudibly softly.

"Knowing you, I believe you," Snape smiled. "But let me finish the story."

Harry nodded again.

"After the fourth or fifth round I couldn't cause more pain to Quietus. I was just standing there unable to move. My father threw the Cruciatus to me. And they killed him. I took his body and Apparated to Hogwarts. I went to Dumbledore's office and I made an oath to him on Quietus' name to fight against Voldemort as long as he would be defeated."

"Did Dumbledore know your brother? How?" Harry asked curiously.

"He attended Hogwarts too. He was a prefect and in his last year he was the Head Boy too. Everybody knew and loved him."

"I see..." Harry was perplexed.

Snape didn't want to continue the conversation about Quietus, so he decided to change topic.

"If you want some more examples to your question about the meaning of dignity in dying you may think of your mother and father," he said softly. "They didn't know that their resistance would save you. They just died as they lived."

Harry shivered all over and Snape asked anxiously.

"Are you okay, Harry?"

"Yes, but it's so... so strange..." Harry murmured lost in thoughts.

"What?"

"From your examples one could conclude that the death of this sort gives... life... Dignity causes life... Or so..."

Snape's eyes widened as he looked at the boy. Harry was not only as clever as he'd suspected after their talks before. He was wise, like an old man with dozens of experiences. Well, perhaps the boy was not old, but he HAD enough experiences as it seemed.

They were sitting in the semi-dark corner wordlessly. Harry fell asleep soon and Snape again lifted the lightly shaking boy into his lap. He didn't know precisely why he did this. He just... did. It seemed the right thing to do. It was something he'd never experienced before, but he decided he liked it. The professor leaned his head against the wall and stared at the nearby torch with an unfocused gaze for a long time, and wondered again about his past, his lost opportunities and his seemingly non-existing future. Love, caring, family... words, things that would never come true. Still, Harry was alive; he could feel something like that. 

Yes. These were indeed happy days in front of the gate of Hell. But they were not in Hell. Not while they were able to share humanity, dignity, care, hope, dreams...

Strange thoughts for a mean git Potions Master, he thought sarcastically. But not so strange for someone condemned to death.

They were 'dead men' walking towards their place of execution with slow steps, and their feelings were likely as any other men's sharing this fate.

He was aware that his feelings were probably the consequence of their present psychical and mental situation. But did it matter, really? Even in everyday life, happiness or sadness were only consequences of various inner and outer events too...

Lost in his thoughts, Snape finally followed Harry to sleep.

***************************************************************************

***************************************************************************

As the car stopped in front of the Burrow, its door swung open and Hermione stormed out.

"Ron!" she shrieked seeing her friend's face. She ran to the red-haired boy and jumped to his neck. "Ron," she repeated more quietly and began to sob in her friend's embrace.

Ron felt quite embarrassed by Hermione's affection display but he didn't want to hurt the grieving girl by pushing her away. He sighed and murmured some reassuring words into her ears.

Some moments later, Mrs. Weasley saved her son from the girl's hug as she embraced her shortly and waved her hand towards the door inviting Hermione's family inside.

They were already in the kitchen sitting by the table, but nobody was brave enough to have broken the silence. Finally, Hermione's father spoke up.

"We heard some really disturbing news from Hermione just after the term's end," he began with a sigh. "And yesterday she got her newspaper, which said that her friend, Harry was possibly lost. She said that he is surely kidnapped and she wanted to come and talk to you. And," for an instant, he looked perplexed "Joan and I would like to hear something more about all this. More, because it seems a beginning of a war to me."

"It is," Mrs. Weasley assured him firmly. "Or it will be in no time."

Hermione's father nodded.

"I suspected."

After a long break, Hermione turned to Ron.

"Do you know something more about Harry? Your father? Dumbledore? Anybody?"

Ron shook his head desperately.

"Nothing. But we could wait for dad; he, perhaps, will have some news when he gets back."

"Ron's father works for the Ministry of Magic," Hermione explained to his mother. "And what about You-Know-Who? Does Fudge still ignore the fact of his return?"

"Fudge is an idiot," Ron murmured under his breath, and to Hermione's great amazement, Mrs. Weasley didn't correct his son.

"Fudge didn't confirm Dumbledore's announcement, but the most part of the wizarding world still knows about it."

"Yeah, the Ending Feast..." Hermione whispered.

"The Ministry didn't want to do anything, although they reorganised and widened the Auror-training courses. Percy decided to become an Auror because his new boss didn't tolerate his passionate attitude to his work."

"Oh," Hermione smiled slightly. "It means that a normal person is the successor of Crouch."

"No, he is not normal. He just cannot stand Percy. These two things are not synonymous," Ron answered and Mrs Weasley sighed deeply.

"Ron. I asked you to watch your mouth."

"But mum, dad said this to you and you did agree with him!" he yelled surprised.

Despite the general sadness, Hermione's parents smiled and Mrs. Weasley blushed.

"Ronald!" she didn't said anything else, but his son shut up his mouth and leaned forward his chair.

"The situation in the wizarding world is not too bad yet," Mrs. Weasley turned to her Muggle guests. "You-Know-Who is probably rearranging his powers and rebuilding his system before he begins something more serious. So it seems, we have time if we want to do something, but the ministry didn't believe the story of Harry," she stopped and glanced at the couple as if to see if they knew of the Triwizard Tournament's events.

"Hermione told us almost everything about it," Mrs. Granger nodded approvingly, waiting for the continuation.

"Well. So time is against us now. We are almost totally impotent, because of the Ministry's denial."

"About this... You-Know-Who," Hermione's father sighed again. "Will it have consequences for the muggle world too?"

Mrs. Weasley lowered her head.

"I'm afraid there will be serious consequences. But not just for the muggle word. The muggleborn wizards will be in the greatest and constant danger in the future. The ones like your daughter..."

Uncomfortable silence fell to the kitchen.

"But Hogwarts is a safe place, mum," Ron said finally. "Hermione won't be hurt there! She is in greater danger at home."

"Yes, that's true," Mrs. Weasley nodded and lifted her gaze to Hermione's parents. "But this summer will be... uneventful, we hope."

"How can we say this?" Hermione yelled abruptly. "Harry's kidnapped! You-Know-Who is already moving!"

"Hermione, Harry is kidnapped because he fled away from home. You-Know-Who was not powerful enough to break the protection walls of his house. And don't forget that Harry was always the first and constant target of him, I don't know why," Ron placed an arm on Hermione's shoulder reassuringly. "And I hope, I believe, that Harry will return."

Hermione shook her head.

"Look, Ron. If he kidnapped Harry, he has already killed him. I am sure."

"You are wrong. If he had already killed Harry, we would have known. He would use his death to intimidate the wizarding world..."

"But this is a bloody nonsense!" the girl cried again. "If it was You-Know-Who who kidnapped him, he wouldn't have waited for so long. No."

"Or," everybody turned his head to Mrs. Weasley who began to speak nearly inaudible "He wants to break him. To show the whole world that Harry is not the hero we believe him to be."

"To break him?" Hermione's father asked. "What does it mean? Certainly not physical abuse..."

"Not ONLY physical abuse, Mr. Granger," the deep sadness in Mrs. Weasley's voice was unmistakable. "And if I am right, as I think, like Arthur, he would surely break. You-Know-Who has time to reach his aim."

"It's unbelievable, Mrs. Weasley. We are living in the 20th century for God's sake!"

"It was this century that produced the greatest massacre of innocent people. Both in the Wizarding and Muggle word, if I'm not mistaken," she answered sternly, and the Grangers lowered their gazes.

"Er... right..." Mr. Granger whispered. "But... What could we do against all of this?"

Mrs. Weasley leaned her face to her hands.

"Nothing," she mumbled. "We can just pray for him to return alive."

***************************************************************************


	6. Relations

Betaed by Lliey Gemini

Revised: 29-12-03 *************************************************************************** **Chapter 6 - Relations**

***************************************************************************

Warmth...

Silent breathing...

Soft heart beating...

Loving embrace...

It took some time until Harry woke perfectly. He didn't open his eyes, but felt that he was again in Snape's lap. The only difference was, that this time he didn't find this closeness embarrassing or strange. It was just natural. However, Snape, as Harry was absolutely sure, considered their behaviour nothing else than the consequence of mere psychological facts.

Harry decided that he liked these psychological facts very much. He didn't care the roots of this situations; the origins were indifferent. The only thing that DID matter was this family-like feeling he shared with Snape...

Snape...

Well, he would have never thought this before. If somebody had told him just two weeks ago that he would turn to like Snape (in two weeks!) he'd sent him to St. Mungo's abruptly. Remembering the past potions lessons... Unbelievable. THIS Snape was a totally different person. There were just external similarities between the tw... one. What had caused this sudden change?

Harry opened his eyes and studied the seemingly calm Potions Master for a long time. He was looking for signs on the relaxed face, signs that would help him to understand this change, to understand the whole process they went through.

The man's head was leaned against the wall, and a slight, peaceful smile played around his mouth as he slept. He was not haunted by nightmares, and with the smile on his face he seemed younger and more sympathetic than ever before. Like Sirius' face after the events of the Shrieking Shack, when he had offered Harry to stay with him. 

Just a smile... Did it really make such a great difference? Harry was sure he would never be able to look at Snape the same way he had been used to before. It was a pity that he surely wouldn't have the possibility to check this statement in a future potions class, although it would be... priceless. He and Snape in perfect peace... there wouldn't be lost points, detentions, yelling, and humiliations... or there would be some perhaps, but not towards Harry. And the others' gaze... Malfoy's or Ron's... Ron would be out of himself.

Snape sighed, and just as his eyes swung open, they met Harry's gaze.

"Good morning, Harry," he yawned, and stretched himself as much as he could with Harry on his lap.

"Good morning, sir. I could stand up..."

"You don't need," Snape yawned again. "It's comfortable to me..."

"I am thirsty, sir," Harry smiled to the professor. "And I have to..." he nodded with his head towards the opposite corner where the toilet was.

"Oh, I see," Snape smiled in return, and released Harry. 

As Harry stood up, he felt his legs numb and tottering, his head went round and he suddenly became sick. He struggled to reach the closet bowl and was really relieved when he finished it without vomiting. Then he went to the jar and drank. The water was good, fresh and cold, and he drank a lot. At least his stomach had something inside...

"Professor?" he asked calmly.

"Yes?"

"Will we ever eat again in our lives?"

"It doesn't seem so..."

Harry laughed and he could see the professor's puzzled gaze.

"What is so ridiculous?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

"I am not hungry, but the idea that I won't eat any more in my life... is a little bit hilarious," Harry answered smiling, then walked to the corner and sat down. "But the healing potions were good. I don't feel ill so much... Though my skin is still burning when I move..."

Harry waited Snape to finish his own round in the cell, and as the man sat back his place, he snuggled to him. He could feel Snape's amazement for an instance, then the professor wrapped his arm around his shoulder comfortably.

"Why didn't they begin their daily routine with us?" he lifted his gaze to Snape's.

The professor shrugged.

"I don't know. But I don't want to think about it. It's better just to sit here with you, than see you suffering..." his voice cracked.

"I know. It's very hard to see you suffering for me too. Do you think this was Voldemort's plan with putting us together?"

Snape nodded.

"It's quite obvious, Harry," he began then added. "Whatever relationship would form between us, it will be a good utensil in his hand to cause more and more pain for the two of us. Probably, in the next round, it will be you who has to watch my torture."

"I don't want to see you suffer."

"Better than for me to see you."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Harry! It's not a joke!" Snape cried angrily.

Harry jerked and lowered his head.

"Yes, sir. I know. But you told me before that you don't want to think about it. Neither do I. And it's easier to bear all of this topic when we are joking."

"I understand you, Harry, really, but... listen..." the professor babbled and Harry was surprised. He'd never heard before Snape babbling or wordless. The man had always precisely known what he wanted to say, or to do. "It's pretty sure that in the next round you will be the observer and me the sufferer. It doesn't depend on our will or wish."

"I know..." Harry's voice was barely audible. He buried his head in Snape's robes. "The mere thought makes me ill, sir," he mumbled.

Snape ran his hand lightly through the child's hair and sighed.

"I must tell you something, Harry. It's just too important to hide," his voice became deadly serious. "Whatever will happen, whatever Voldemort will  tell you, whatever you see them do to me, you have to keep your mouth shut. They'll try to break us by each other's sufferings, but you have to stay strong and straight. They'll try everything to break you. Perhaps they will kill me. But, Harry, you mustn't beg or plead them. You shouldn't humiliate yourself for me."

"But, sir..."

"No, Harry. It's not a request of me, or a favour. It's a command. We will die; I will die here anyway surely. I don't want to die being aware of your breaking and self-betrayal. Can you understand?" he asked, but not waiting for Harry's answer he continued. "There will be no mercy for us. With any begging or self-humiliating you can only extend our suffering, and give them more possible way to torture us. And there is one more thing."

Harry sighed. He had plenty of ideas about this 'one more'.

"Yes, sir?"

"If they break you, your suffering will turn deeper and more insufferable than the present, because I will despise you  as well. Is it clear?"

"Adamantly, sir," Harry smiled slightly. "You've already said that you want to kill me yourself, and I find a real improvement now that you plan only to despise me..."

"Harry. I was serious," Snape's voice was annoyed.

Harry mumbled something into Snape's robes.

"What?" the professor asked.

"It's so boring to be serious all the time..."

"Did I hear you right?" a cold voice from the door asked suddenly. "Are you bored here?"

Harry felt his blood froze. Panic flooded through his veins, as Voldemort slowly paced towards them. He nestled himself to Snape as if he could disappear somehow, trying to escape the inevitable, and wrapped his arms around Snape's chest for protection. The professor tightened his grasp on Harry's shoulder, and murmured some reassuring and calming words to the boy's ears.

"Don't panic, Harry. Be strong and don't fear. Everything will be all right."

Harry couldn't answer. In reality he couldn't move, hear, understand either. The panic numbed him thoroughly, his eyes widened in obvious dread.

"I don't want to remain alone, sir," he muttered desperately. "I don't want to lose you..."

"Shut up, Potter. You MUST be strong!" Snape hissed and stood up. "So you've finally decided to go on with us?" glared to the Dark Lord.

Four Death Eaters entered the cell behind the menacing figure.

"Why do you think I am here?" the inhuman creature's lips curled into an evil smile.

***************************************************************************

Harry had to remind himself again and again of Snape's words. He knew that the he was right, but it was simply too hard to stay watching the professor's slow agony, seeing the life flying away from the torn body.

In the first hours, his panic was helping him to hold on; he still was unable to open his mouth or to move. Two Death Eaters dragged him to the torture chamber and placed him next to Voldemort who kept enjoying himself by torturing Harry with his sadistic remarks.

"Do you like the show, Mr. Potter? The hated Potions Master is dying... I think you can be grateful to me... After so many years of despising... He did hate your parents too... He deserves his fate... He is nothing more than a traitor, a traitor of both sides... If he'd had the chance he would have killed your father too... Did he tell you his glorious past in my service? His potions, his victims, his betrayals... Do you think he's changed? Once a traitor always a traitor... He plays the good guy towards you as far as I can see..."

It was a very long speech, but Harry could understand only words and short sentences of it. He didn't answer. He blinked blindly and clutched his hands into fists in his impotent rage every time he caught something of the babbled words.

Panic and anger. The two opposite feelings were swirling in him. Endless hours passed in this numbed silence. He couldn't hear Snape's cries or groans, perhaps the man didn't cried at all but endured the sufferings in perfect silence as he had done previously during the other torments. Harry didn't know. He was unable to think, sometimes to breathe. Giant waves of guilt washed through his body from time to time; he blamed himself, it was all his fault, his irresponsible behaviour, Snape had always been right in the school that he was an insufferable stupid prat... It was his fault... as Cedric's death was his fault...

Guilt and guilt again, suffocating, killing him slowly...

After a while, Harry thought that Snape lost his consciousness, but no, Voldemort Ennervated him again and again as he'd done with Harry before.

"If you ask me I can stop his sufferings," the slimy words slipped into his ears. Harry shook his head.

"Do you REALLY want him to die? Do you really hate him so much?" the tempting and accusing words met Harry's own guilty feelings strengthening them. He clenched his teeth and fought to keep his angry words and guilt back. He didn't answer just looked desperately at Snape, and hoped that the professor hadn't heard Voldemort's words.

"It will be your decision that will kill him," hissed the Greatest Bastard smirking.

"No," Harry moaned silently. "No..."

'_You have to stay strong, Harry,_' the professor's words echoed in his mind. '_Whatever he tells you..._"

"It will be your fault," the cold, evil voice whispered.

"Liar!" Harry cried suddenly. "I don't believe you!"

"The only thing you have to do is to ask me to finish. To have mercy."

The torture stopped for a moment. Harry felt his feelings shattered. What should he do? What was he supposed to do, to feel, to think, to say? Why should he endure in a situation like this?

Why?

'_WHY_?' a voice cried inside him. He was just a child. Nothing more. And he needed Snape to survive in this Hell. If he didn't plea for mercy, the professor would die. He would remain alone.

'_There will be no mercy for us. With any begging or self-humiliating you can only extend our suffering and give them, more possible way to torture us._' Harry heard again Snape's voice.

'_I need you to be there,_' he replied desperately to himself.

He buried his face into his hands.

"I see, Potter you are coming to your senses finally," the merciless and menacing voice hissed again.

Merciless... '_There will be no mercy for us. There will be no mercy for us._' NO MERCY.

Harry sighed and lowered his arms.

"I will never believe you," he said as calmly as he could manage.

"Very well, Mr. Potter," Voldemort turned to his Death Eaters. "Let's go on!"

Harry had never thought that there were so many kinds of torture and crucifying, and that there existed people that used them without mercy and guilt.

It was almost unbelievable when Voldemort finally dismissed them. Snape was unconscious, naturally, and it was Harry's task to return him somehow to the cell. The limp body was too heavy for him to lift up, so he had to drag him. Harry shifted his arms behind Snape's shoulders, and clutched his hands together over his chest. He pitied the professor for the bruises he caused by the dragging, but he couldn't help but act likely. He could feel his tears washing his face, but he didn't care.

The Death Eaters watched his struggling, and they laughed harshly and evilly seeing his tottering. And then the stairs... Harry couldn't stop crying as he moved the professor's body slowly and cautiously from stair to stair, fighting desperately not to cause more harm, not to hurt more the already torn man.

He didn't know how he got again into the cell. It seemed an eternity. But when the door shut closed behind them, he lowered the limp body to the floor as kindly as he could, and covered him with the cloak. Then took the jar and washed the blood away from the man's face; he sat down at Snape's head and lifted it to his lap.

For long and sleepless hours he stared at the once so unfriendly, but now so kind and precious face, and begged for any listening god for the professor's awakening.

***************************************************************************

As Snape began to regain his consciousness, he felt a warm body under his head. From time to time, a kind hand ran trough his hair or caressed his cheek. His first thought was Quietus again, but he suddenly reminded himself to his present situation and KNEW. It was Harry.

He smiled warmly even if the smile hurt his torn facial muscles.

"Are you awake, sir?" he heard a worried voice.

"Yes, Harry," he answered, but he didn't open his eyes.

He could feel his heart warming from the boy's caring presence. It became so... natural for him to care for the boy, to comfort him, and he had been a little worried before about Harry's feelings. But now, that he could feel the mutuality, he relieved.

"I hope it wasn't too terrible to see..." he said weakly.

"No, it was not terrible," as the boy stopped Snape could feel his heart sank. "I died by every strike and blow you suffered," Harry's voice cracked.

A storm of swirling feelings ran trough his body. Still with closed eyes, he lifted his hand to Harry's face and caressed it slightly.

"Thank you, Harry."

"For what?"

"For enduring, for being there..." it was so strange to say these words, Snape thought for a moment. He could feel himself behaving more and more out of character. Was it the weakness? The caring? Everything became so blurry and turned inside up and upside down...

"I deserve no thanks, sir. I've failed," Harry's voice was sad.

"You didn't," he began but the boy interrupted him.

"But yes. I heard his words and I couldn't stand not to answer... and there was a point when I..."

"When you?" Snape asked softly after a while.

"When I believed him," Harry sounded so despaired and near to his verge that Snape, fighting with his nausea, and his pains, sat up and creeping next to Harry embraced the crying child tightly.

Harry buried his head to the folds of his robe and sobbed silently.

"I'm so sorry, I betrayed you and me..." his muttered words were barely audible, and Snape didn't answer anything. He was waiting until the boy calmed down stroking his back and his hair with kind motions.

When he felt the crying ceasing he put his finger below Harry's chin and lifted his head so that he could see into his eyes.

"Harry," he said in a calm, but serious tone. "You haven't failed. You haven't betrayed yourself or me. You were confused, but you've fought yourself and you resisted."

"I didn't want to let you suffer any more. I didn't want to lose you. I didn't want you to die..." Harry lowered his head and muttered quietly.

"I know. And I know that this is too heavy a weight on a child to carry, but you have to accept the fact that perhaps you'll remain here alone. You are of greater importance for Voldemort than I am, and if he sees that he can break you by my death he won't hesitate. You have to be strong, and let me die if it's my time."

"But I couldn't..." the thin body shivered next to him. "I've already lost everything... I don't want to remain alone here..." Harry suddenly lifted his gaze. "It's so terrible and dreadful to think about being alone with Voldemort for a long time... I was alone with him after he killed Cedric in the graveyard, and I had no hope, and I knew I would die but... at least I knew that it wouldn't last long... But the mere thought  of me and him in this place for days, weeks..."

Snape could understand Harry's feelings and exasperation perfectly. It was very hard for him to be around the Dark Lord as one of his allies, and he tried to imagine how could be to remain alone in this hell without Harry, and shuddered. He tightened his embrace as much as he could without hurting the child.

"I will be there for you as long as I can, Harry. I will help you. But you have to be strong in case you remain alone. You will be strong, I know. I am sure. You are brave and you are good. Your goodness will win over the darkness and evil around you. Believe me, Harry. You can endure until the end."

None of them moved. Then the boy helped the man to lie back and curled to his side. Snape sighed,  smiled, and cocooned themselves into the cloak. The closeness and warmth were so good, so relaxing that he could feel again  happiness emerging in his heart.

"You know, Harry, in every relationship you have, you must accept the fact that it won't last forever. And you have to learn to release the other. Not only in case of their death but you have to give chance for them to decide about remaining or leaving. Always. If you desperately want to keep somebody you'll loose them. If you can set them free, it will last."

"In this case it's better to remain alone from the very beginning, isn't it?"

"No. To be alone is not a real chance for life."

"But you don't have to worry about the other."

"The worry is not an exorbitant price to be a little happy."

"Can't you be happy alone?" Harry asked incredulously.

"No. Not really. It's rather... boring. You can't share your thoughts, feelings, experiences and so everything became indifferent after a while," Snape said his eyes unfocused.

"You are alone, aren't you, sir?" Harry asked suddenly.

Snape was in silence for minutes.

"Well, not really. I live alone but I am not alone..."

"Do you have friends?" for an instant, Harry felt that perhaps this question was not something he should have asked. But Snape didn't seem angry or annoyed.

"I have Albus as a good friend... and I have some colleagues I am on good terms with."

Harry, gaining confidence from the answered question risked another one.

"And in the school... Did you have friends when you were a child?"

Snape smiled.

"Of course. Why do you think I didn't?" but his brows darkened. "But a lot of them died after Voldemort's disappearing."

"Were they ...?" Harry didn't finish the sentence, but Snape understood.

"Yes. Some of them are still in Azkaban. For 14 years..."

"Do you pity them?"

Snape sighed.

"It's too complex a question to be answered in one sentence... or in one day. Yes and no. I pity them. I pity our lost friendship. But I don't pity them for their acts... even though I did the same... I should be there with them..." he muttered the last words totally unfocused.

Suddenly, he felt Harry's arms wrapping around him.

"No..." the boy said in a stern voice. "No. You shouldn't be there with them. You turned back and you risked your life by spying for Dumbledore. You are better than them."

Snape burst into a short, bitter laugh.

"Do you REALLY think I am better than them, Potter?" Harry didn't released Snape just nodded. "Then you are wrong. I am sorry. Despite my present behaviour towards you, I am a total monster. Sincerely. You experienced it during the past four years."

"That's another thing. You were just harassing me. It's not important, professor. Not any more," Harry whispered holding the man strongly.

"I changed sides just because of the death of my brother. There wasn't any conviction in my decision. It was a simple side-changing."

"You changed sides, because you loved somebody, and it was this love that made you better than them. That makes you better than them. You were able to love. This was the difference..."

"They love their family too..."

"As your father did?"

"He was an exception..."

"Are you sure?" Snape wanted to answer again, but Harry went on. "And are you sure they would have changed sides if Voldemort had killed somebody from their family? No, professor. You did it. They did not. This is the difference."

"Harry, you don't understand these things..."

"...because I am too young. Too young for what?" Harry asked angrily. "This is not an argument, sir!"

"Well, I see I have to withdraw," Snape smiled slightly feeling the boy's anger. "I don't dare arguing with you. You'll defeat me."

"You're mocking me, professor," Harry shook his head in annoyance.

"No, I am not. I am bloody serious, Mr. Potter," Snape smirked.

"You are not!" the boy's voice was indignant.

"Well, if you don't believe me..."

They laughed. Then Snape began to speak.

"Harry, I want to apologise."

"You don't need, sir."

"I MUST!" he cried out. "For - how did you say? - harassing you for four years. For mistreating. For humiliating and ridiculing. For misunderstanding you."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does. I was the adult. I should have been more perceptive..."

Harry didn't answer for long.

"Sir?" he sighed finally.

"Mmmm-hmmm?"

"Did you really hate me?"

Snape blushed and lowered his head. For an instance he felt a little rage. Why did he humiliate himself in front of this boy?

"I have to admit... yes." It was too hard to confess. He didn't intend to hurt Harry, but he feared that he would, and not only Harry. His pride was offended too. But he decided to go on. "Or better if I say I hated the person I believed you were." He embraced the boy and ran his hand through his hair. "I am sorry."

Harry didn't reply. He didn't want to think about the past years, to think about their present situation. He wanted to ask something... but he didn't dare. He feared the possible answer; he didn't want to be disappointed. But Snape, as always, seemed to read his thoughts because he continued.

"Don't be afraid, Harry. I don't hate you any more. I... I am happy to be here. Not because of the tortures... or the fear. I am happy to know you. To be with you. I am sorry that this must have happened to me to change my opinion of you... and perhaps it's too late but... I am very fond of you, Harry."

Harry didn't dare to lift up his gaze. He was totally shattered and unthinkably happy.

"I..." his voice cracked as he tried to answer. "I am happy to be here too with you, sir... And I am sorry that it was my fault... but... perhaps... I don't regret it any more... I think I've found the place I can always return."

Snape smiled remembering their first - or second? - conversation.

"The family?" he asked warmly.

Harry blushed.

"Something like that, sir..."

After a while the boy added.

"Sir, don't you think it's a very simple psychological fact and nothing more?"

The professor shrugged.

"I don't mind it any more."

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"Alastor! I'm glad to see you, old friend!"

"Albus" the Auror nodded politely. "I've heard the news about young Harry Potter."

Dumbledore sighed heavily.

"It was Voldemort. I am pretty sure."

"That idiot Fudge!" Moody muttered under his breath. "He still doesn't believe you. I've spoken to him some days ago, and I reassured him about your suspicions of Voldemort's 'resurrection' but he..." he waved his hand. "He didn't tell me, but I am sure, he considered me a total fool as always. And lo! I was right when I tried to defend myself in every way I could..."

Dumbledore motioned his friend towards the chairs.

"A tea, Alastor?" he smiled. "From my own hand?"

"Albus, you know that I drink only..."

"I know, I know..."

"Believe me I AM right about the constant vigilance. Especially in times like this..."

Dumbledore chuckled.

"Constant vigilance..."

"Albus! You are laughing at me!?"

"Sorry, Alastor," Dumbledore regained his composure, some twinkles remained in his eyes, though.

"So? What do you plan to do?" Moody asked shaking his head as he saw the headmaster's lemon drops. "Do you have any idea where the young Harry could be?"

Dumbledore sighed and the twinkles disappeared from his eyes.

"Alastor, I think I know where Harry is. The only problem I don't know the exact place of it."

Moody didn't answer just arched his eyebrows curiously.

"In my opinion he - or better to say they - are in Nightmare Manor."

"Them? Nightmare Manor? What are you talking about?"

"I haven't seen Severus for six or seven days. He disappeared precisely in the same time when Harry did. It cannot be an accident."

"No. It's certainly not." Moody's face darkened.

"I am concerned. Severus is generally able to defend himself. If he didn't return he had a good reason to do that. I'm afraid he is captured too."

Dumbledore lifted his gaze. Moody's eyes – both the magical and the normal - were fixed to him, but he cannot see compassion in them. Just disgust.

"I think, Albus, your fantasy is betraying you," he moaned. "Possibly, he had other reasons to remain with Voldemort..."

"What do you mean...?" Dumbledore's face darkened in return. "Severus is not..."

"Albus! You are too innocent! I am sure that that Death Eater, you think to be your friend, seeing  young Harry captured, didn't find any more reason to return. They reached their purpose. The enemy number one of Voldemort is in their hand. Why would Snape return?"

"You don't know what you are talking about," Dumbledore began slowly. "Severus's decision to turn to our side was serious and sincere. He did help us many times during the last war. He gave us precious information about places, persons and plans. He spoke about Nightmare Manor too, the prison of Voldemort."

"Did he show you the exact place of it?"

"I told you I don't know..."

"You see, Albus. He DIDN'T know. Is it not strange?"

"We had been looking for it together..."

"But you haven't found it, have you?"

"It was not Severus's fault. He tried many times."

"Albus! He'd certainly betrayed you!" the Auror shouted impatiently.

"You don't know him, Alastor," Dumbledore hissed angrily. "I've told you as I had said in the trial that he was and IS on our side."

"Perhaps he WAS. And he switched sides again. A turncoat is never truly trustworthy."

"You have no right to speak about him like this, after all you did to him," Dumbledore's voice was quiet but intense.

"What did I do to him?" Moody shrugged. "I only questioned him. It was necessary. We caught him and examined his case, just as we did in the other cases!"

"Well, Alastor. Your questioning method is not more human than the Death Eaters' treatment of their victims!"

"Albus! How dare...!"

"Alastor! I KNOW what I am talking about!"

"Did that bloody Death Eater tell you these lies?

"Yes, Alastor and I believe HIM!"

"You believe a turncoat rather than your old friend!?"

In the heat of the quarrel both of them stood up and leaned to each other over Dumbledore's desk. But this moment, Dumbledore sighed and sat down again.

"When he finally got out from Azkaban where you'd sent him, he came to my office and told me everything. I couldn't believe him. I didn't want to believe him. The things he said about you and Frank... I yelled at him and I told him he was a liar." Dumbledore's look was distant as he recalled the past events in his mind. His voice became very silent and smoothed. "I know Severus. He has a temper, and he is a very sarcastic, cold, and distant person. Then, he didn't answer anything. Just shrugged and went away. I was sure he was exaggerating about you. But... something happened during the last year and he appeared in this office, sat down in the same chair you are sitting in, gave me a tiny bottle and asked me to question him. After a night-meeting with Crouch who had accused him..."

Alastor's face paled.

"That damned Crouch..."

"It was not Crouch's fault. I think it would have happened the same if you had been in Crouch's place."

"The potion was...?"

"Yes. It was Veritaserum. Brewed by Soren McRee, not by Severus. I sent Soren the remainder of the serum just after I questioned Severus to check the potion. I didn't want to believe... I got the answer in three days from Soren... The potion was perfect... Severus told me the truth... he told me... things about those events, 14 years ago..." Dumbledore's voice faded.

"Did you ask him about his loyalties too?" Moody asked dryly.

"Yes. He wanted to be asked. He wanted to be believed. He insisted again and again, because I didn't want to... to uncover his secrets, his fears and his pains."

"His sins," Moody added but Dumbledore didn't hear it.

Dumbledore remembered the determination written on the face of the Potions Master. '_Albus, I need you to know the whole truth. You gave evidence for me 14 years ago and I want you to know everything. Everything. About me, the Death Eaters, and yes, about Moody and Frank too..._'

He hadn't wanted it. He had tried to ignore the younger man's wish. And then Severus had been... begging him. Severus - begging... He had been under shock. The Potions Master on his knees... Severus had shown him the Dark Mark. He had been sure Voldemort would return soon. He had wanted Albus to trust him totally. '_Albus... You must... You have to know..._'

It had been a very long night. After Severus had left, he had just been sitting in his chair staring at the flames and waiting for the answer...

When he had gotten it, he had gone to the dungeons and apologised.

Severus's face had been paler than usual when he had confessed the Potions Master that he had let the potion be checked by McRee. He could see the disappointment.

'_I might have known..._' the Potions Master had muttered.

Dumbledore had never felt himself so badly. It had been just as he'd betrayed the younger man who had been his spy for two years, his colleague for 14 years, the unwilling protector of Harry for four years... But it had been so hard to believe that his friend, Alastor and later Frank... had committed all those sins, just because they hadn't considered their captives humans...

Dumbledore could hear Moody leaving the room, but he was unable to snap out of his thoughts.

Severus... Why hadn't he realised his values before? Why hadn't he offered his friendship before? Well, it was true they had been on good terms, but perhaps it had not been enough to Severus...

The younger man had been living in the same building with him for more than a decade, he had been loyal to him, had done everything he asked from him and he had never wished anything in return. No friendship, no trust, no understanding. Surely it had been his guilt. Severus should consider his loneliness as a merited punishment of his previous acts.

He had missed so much... And Severus too... The last half year had been priceless. They had become friends. And then... Perhaps he would lose him. And Harry.

Severus and Harry... Were they alive yet?

Severus and Harry... Were they together in Voldemort's hell?

Severus and Harry... Would they ever know...?

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	7. Loneliness

Betaed by Lliey Gemini

Revised: 29-12-03

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Chapter 7 - Loneliness 

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It happened again.

Harry was tortured and he was forced to watch him suffering.

This watching task grew harder and harder as the days passed by.

Snape was sure that he wouldn't survive the night.

The first round was his to bear: quite a few Cruciatus, a respectable amount of physical abuse accompanied by Voldemort's short remarks to Harry's ears, but the boy's face remained emotionless as his eyes followed everything that happened to his professor, so after a while, the Greatest Bastard decided to continue with Harry and the Potions Master became the impotent watcher of his torture.

The older injures, cuts and bruises of Harry's body hadn't healed yet, especially those cuts of Avery's razor, and they were ripped open again, but Harry just stood in silence.

Snape remembered their almost unbearable panic the morning - or had it been afternoon? He didn't know. In the dungeons of Nightmare Manor, there was always darkness, and he lost his sense of time, and the long periods of unconsciousness didn't help to recover it – so when the Death Eaters had come to fetch them again, they both had been frozen in dread. He remembered Harry's child-like, round face as it had gone paler than ever, the grasp of his fists, the suffocating dread that had shaken the thin and obviously weak body... He could feel the desperate wish to protect him rising in his heart, but he hadn't been able to do anything against their future...

Their relationship would kill them, he thought. Voldemort had known this, when he had decided to shut them together in the same cell... And the tortures just came again and again...

The coldness of the torture chamber... The smell of blood... The dull wailing... The sadistic laughs... Trembling legs and shaking hands, clutched fists and clenched teeth, weakness and hunger... Everything seemed so distant and blurry except from his feelings and the strong decision to remain human in this hell, he wouldn't give one more possibility to the Bastard to torture them. The physical abuses were enough.

When Voldemort left, the Death Eaters decided to beat Snape too.

The common torment wasn't as hard as the impotent watching. It felt somehow better, as if his pain could lessen Harry's.

Everything hurt now.

After their long, agonising torture,  their short-timed freedom came near again. The Death Eaters dragged them back to their cell, semi-consciously, back to the pit of death and love and care... A few Voldemort-free hours were waiting for them, a few hours of chance to console and comfort each other, to give and take strength for the further events.

They were so exhausted that they were unable to sit any more. Snape, with the remainders of his strength, laid Harry in the corner, and grabbing the cloak, he fell next to him, and covered themselves with the filthy piece of garment, embraced the boy and lost his consciousness like him in tiredness.

The end was approaching, he felt. His last thought was, that he wanted to die later than Harry. So that he would protect the boy until his end.

***************************************************************************

…

…

Snape didn't recognised where he was. He felt weak and sick, absolutely feeble to do anything. He couldn't sense his limbs and was unable to open his eyes. At the same time, there was another strange feeling, like flying or sailing in the air like clouds in the sky or birds… He was light, a leaf in the wind, free of bonds and burdens, free like a child, thoughtless and without responsibility, pain, fear, past and future...

For the short moments of consciousness, he knew that his state was the straight consequence of hunger, the torments and the loss of blood, but he didn't care. He drove away these disturbing thoughts fiercely. He wanted to fly, to be free - and to die. It was near. So near that he could almost touch it. The light... a bright light in front of him, as he was sailing, as he were in heaven. He smiled. Heaven... from hell... Did he have a road to heaven? Was he allowed to stay there? Just in front of it, not in: he would never get inside, he was sure.

Heaven wasn't reserved for murderers like him, whoever he turned into afterwards... Heaven was reserved for people who deserved it, like, for example, Quietus.

Quietus... If his brother was in heaven, he would never meet him. Never. He wouldn't be allowed in there.

He could feel his heart sink. As sadness touched him, he became heavier and heavier and wasn't able to sail weightlessly again: earth was calling him, reality claimed him to be there: in hell instead of heaven where he would never belong.

_Murderer, murderer!_ a large choir of voices cried from the earth he was falling to, the voices of victims he killed, tortured or hurt were claiming him to be there where they were: in the pit of pain and fear and loneliness... Alone in the dark of the dungeons for more than a dozen of years, alone and distrusted by everybody, suspected and despised... But he deserved it.

DAMN, that he deserved it!

He knew. But it hurt. All he wanted, begged, pleaded, was longing for somebody... anybody... to be there for him. Anybody who thought of him as another human, as just a human... who worried for him, who cared enough to be there…

Suddenly, he could see Albus' face concerned and worried... then he could hear the headmaster saying '_I sent it to McRee_'... Albus hadn't trusted him.

Nobody trusted him.

Once a traitor always a traitor.

Traitor of both sides, as Voldemort had said.

Traitor of all he loved.

Traitor of Anne.

Traitor of Quietus.

Murderer... traitor... Yes, he was. He felt darkness emerging around him claiming his life, and heaven's lights began to fade away, and he became extremely heavy, and he fell through earth to the deepest abyss of the world hopelessly and alone.

And he deserved it. All of it!

He was doomed to be alone forever. Everything went cold, colder than ice, colder than space: it was the coldness of death... The death of the lost souls, of damnation... The eternal loneliness...

He wanted to curl into a foetal position, as he was used to do at home, in his bed, in order to console himself by the warmth of his own body, but for now, he couldn't.

He couldn't. Somebody lay next to him, preventing him from curling up.

Somebody, who was shivering and moaning in a voice scarcely above a whisper. Although Snape could hear him.

"Leave him alone... please leave him alone... go away, please, please," the person next to him muttered from time to time, his voice was cracked by a silent cry every now and then. "You've already killed everybody around me... please, please, let him go..."

Was the thin voice begging HIM, Severus Nobilus Snape? Was he one of his victims? Was it the kid, that kid of Thomas Galvany? The voice was so similar…

"Don't hurt him anymore, just leave him, please... Take me instead of him... me... again... ... ... go..." the voice became an inaudible muttering.

Snape struggled to open his eyes, to clear his mind. Somebody was with him in the hell he fell into. Somebody desperate and sad but not about himself... And most definitely, not the Galvany kid… What was the boy doing there, then?

It was so damned hard to regain consciousness. He would need some energy potions... but it came to his mind that his potions had been taken from him days ago... when he had been placed in the cell with Harry. Harry...

HARRY?

Suddenly, everything became clear. The person next to him was Harry begging for... for whom? What? Still struggling with his weakness, he leaned up on his elbow and opened his eyes. As he expected, his vision was blurry and smooth but he could hear again the boy's pleading.

"No, not Cedric... kill me instead..." Silence and sobs... and tearful words again, "He is not the spare... I am the one who spared... The spare..." and unintelligible mumbling again.

Snape shook his head. What was going on? Who was Harry speaking to? What was all this about? Cedric? But he'd died. Two or more months ago... And what did it mean 'spare'? Who was spare? And why?

As his vision cleared a little bit, he sensed something glittering in the boy's face. Glittering like silver and gold, like a mask, the whole face was glittering... Carefully, Snape touched the sparkling mask. Wet. It was wet. Liquid gold? He stared at his fingers. And finally, he understood.

Tears were twinkling and shining in the torch-light, tears, which washed Harry's face. He was sobbing in his dream...

Dream... Snape thought bitterly. Better to say nightmare. Killing and pain and begging... It could only be a nightmare with Voldemort as the main character of it.

He touched the boy's shoulder softly and called out his name.

"Harry... Harry, can you hear me? Wake up!"

There was no answer for long minutes of trying. Snape began to shake the fragile body as carefully as he could with no visible results. After a while, the man became desperate.

"Can you hear me, Harry? You must wake up!" He tried to say it louder, but his voice was weak and hoarse.

"Not him, please..." A new stream of tears left Harry's tightly closed eyes. "No, nonono, please." Harry's hands tightened into fists next to his sides. "Leave him alone! Kill me instead! I deserve... not him..." The cry shook Harry's whole body cutting off the words' stream.

Snape shook him horrified.

"Harry!" he cried as loud as he could. "Wake up, listen, Harry!" He shook the boy's shoulder, this time as strongly as he could.

Harry suddenly snapped out of his nightmare.

"Where... who...?" his eyes blinked blindly.

"You are with me. With Severus," the man breathed as calmly as he could in relief after those moments of absolute horror.

"Severus?" the weak voice asked. "Who is Severus?"

Snape knocked himself mentally. Of course, the boy had never called him Severus before.

"With professor Snape," he explained calming down even more.

"Professor?" Harry cried abruptly, and made a tentative to sit up. "You are ALIVE!?"

"Of course I am. Can't you hear me?" Snape replied. He was annoyed for a brief moment, but his relief smoothed his annoyance away.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one who got relieved. Immense easement washed away the tension of the child's face too.

"You are here," Harry said simply, smiled and closed his eyes.

"Yes, why?" Snape was really curious and he leaned closer.

Harry blushed slightly.

"I... I..." he tried to begin but failed. "Nothing, sir. Really."

"You were crying in your dream," the professor said simply.

"You too, some days ago," Harry shrugged a little embarrassedly.

Snape sighed and massaged his neck.

"I had a nightmare. About... about Quietus' death and... I tried to..." it was just too hard to tell it. But it wasn't time for whining. If he wanted the boy to trust him, he had to continue. "I tried to save him, but I failed. The same happened in my life 15 years ago..."

The last sentence was a weak whisper. Harry opened his eyes and their gazes locked.

"Sorry, sir. I hurt you again," he said seriously.

"Again?" Snape asked in total disbelief.

"It's my fault you're suffering here. I did this to you. All is my fault."

Snape could see in the boy's eyes that he really meant it. Suddenly, he felt very old and tired. More than 37. More than 40. Indeed... more than 80. He felt like in a Potions class, when he made unsuccessful efforts to explain a very simple thing to Longbottom or to one of the Hufflepuffs. How on earth couldn't Harry understand the simple fact that it had NOT been his fault? Not at all, nothing at all. But he would not be able to make the boy understand, he was quite sure. And it made him very annoyed.

"Stop it, Potter," he barked in his best greasy git voice. "It is NOT your fault. And. If. It. Was. Your. Fault. It. Would. Not. Matter. After. Six. Days. Together. In. This. Hell. Do you understand? Do you?"

The last sentence was a desperate cry rather than an angry yell he meant it to be. Harry jerked startled. He didn't dare to answer anything, just nodded.

"I don't believe you," Snape shook his head in exasperation. "You blame yourself for this situation. But you are NOT right. It wasn't your choice and I don't blame you. I prefer being here with you to being anywhere else."

This time, his unwanted confession startled both of them. Harry blinked in surprise, then he spoke up.

"I dreamt that Voldemort killed you. Just in front of me. And I couldn't save you. You died like my parents, Cedric... Like everyone around me..."

Snape gulped. Cedric again. He became suspicious.

"You can't forgive yourself his death," he realised, not asked.

"He died because of me. I was Voldemort's target, not him. It was just a... mistake. A mistake I did. But mistake nevertheless... And when Voldemort ordered Pettigrew to kill him he said 'kill the spare.' As if he was nothing... not a person, a human... just a mistake..." Harry was shaking. "I couldn't do anything at all." Harry turned away from Snape and covered his face into his palms. "I felt the same in my dream now. He killed you. I couldn't do anything against it. But it hurt more than Cedric's... It hurt so badly..." he mumbled.

It was a sudden and total urge in Snape to embrace the shuddering boy. He grabbed Harry's shoulders and turned the boy to himself.

"Thank you, Harry." He didn't know what he was thanking for exactly. The feeling indicated by the tears? Or the brave and sincere words? It didn't matter anyway. He pulled Harry closer, wrapped his arms around him, and clasped hardly to himself. "I am here, don't worry."

Harry buried his head to Snape's robes - or to its remainders - and sighed. Was it fear? Relief? Snape couldn't tell.

"I don't want to die, sir, but ... I don't want to remain alone again... to be alone again..."

These words were so identical to Snape's previous nightmare feelings that they hit him hard deep in his heart.

But WHY? Why should Harry feel this way?

The boy didn't deserve to be alone. Why was he compelled to feel lonely then?

The boy had no sins to separate him from the others, like he had. Why was he left alone?

Two 'why's. The first directed to the fate, the second to the circumstances.

"Why do you say 'alone _again_', Harry?" he asked cautiously. "When did you feel alone?"

"I almost always feel alone," the boy whispered, his head was still nestled to Snape's chest hiding his expression. "Except for the last days," he added some moments later.

Again, the damned impression: the boy felt in the same way as he did... How?

"But you have your friends... your family, Harry. You were certainly not alone."

"I told you that my friends were children. And my family is nothing more than three people who despise me and desperately try to ignore my pure existence. But this ignoring stuff is quite new: they do it mostly lately. Formerly, they hated me. And, somehow, that was better. I could feel at least that I was existing. But afterwards... They totally avoided me. They did their best not to speak to me... to look at me... And Sirius couldn't be there for me for certain reasons you know. As a matter of fact, I don't really know Sirius either. Just a few letters, and three or four short meetings, nothing more… Everything was so... empty."

But Snape missed the second part of the speech.

"Do your relatives despise you? Ignore you? Why didn't you tell the headmaster?"

"Tell him what? My feelings? Or what? That I had been living in a cupboard for 10 years? That I didn't have anything I could declare as mine until I've bought my school robes and things? That I've never got new clothes and I always had to wear my cousin's old shreds? That I was always bullied by my own family? That later, I had to participate in Dudley's diet and I was starving? That I am a freak so that they kept me closed through all my first summer holiday? That I could reach a certain freedom by threatening them with my murderer godfather? Or that they never told me anything about my parents except for lies? They said they'd dead in a car crash, my father was unemployed, a useless, good-for-nothing, and my mother was a whore... I was so ashamed. And on the other hand, they didn't really beat me or abuse me physically. I would have felt so ridiculous to complain to Dumbledore for all these stupid things..." His whole life's pains erupted from him. The bitterness, the sadness and the resignation.

Snape understood the boy's feelings all too well. He was right. A child, if he weren't beaten at, would not be removed from his family. A little bit maltreatment didn't matter, really. And many children had a family like Harry's - his own for example. It was like a refrigerator. Cold and emotionless.

Quietus was the only warmth in his childhood's winter.

Snape shuddered as he tried to imagine his childhood without Quietus. It would have been terrible. And... his parents never closed him in a cupboard. And... he had everything he needed. Food, clothes, games... the only missing thing was love. But... at least they were proud of him! And of Quietus too, though... No. His childhood was considerably better than Harry's. In the meantime, Harry went on with his rantings.

"I didn't have friends until I met Ron on the Hogwarts express and later Hermione. Nobody wanted to be my friend. Nobody wanted to be a freak's friend, to be hit and bullied by Dudley. I was TOTALLY alone until eleven. I had no friends, no relatives, no any living people who wanted to talk to me, to ask me how I was. At least that idiot Dudley tormented me sometimes and I could feel I was still existing."

Snape was numb and wordless. And extremely shaken by Harry's words.

He KNEW how it felt to be alone.

'_I had no friends, no relatives, no any living man who wanted to talk to me, to ask me how I was._'

He recognised his own feelings in this sentence. The exasperation, the resignation, the finality. When you finally gave up and accepted your fate as it was.

"You are not alone, Harry, not any more. I'll stay with you. I will stay with you as long as I can. I promise." Snape didn't know why he said these words. But he didn't regret them. They were right even if that sarcastic voice in his head didn't miss to remind him to his own situation. '_Severus, Severus... It is YOU who doesn't want to be alone, isn't it? You were terrified by your own nightmare, weren't you?_'

No. Harry didn't deserve to be alone. He, Severus Snape was his last chance to help him, to give him  company, perhaps... family too? They didn't have much time. Days... or perhaps just hours... And yes, Voldemort would take advantage of their relationship, but he couldn't deny this from Harry. Love always meant more suffering in life rather than total happiness.

He tried to explain that to Harry.

"I don't deserve your care, sir" the boy answered weakly after listening to his explanation.

"Potter, do you remember when some days ago one of us said: '_this is not the place where we have to talk about deserving_'? You told me this when I dared to say that I didn't deserve to live." Snape rubbed circles on the boy's back. "I can only repeat your words. And..."

"But..." Harry tried to interrupt Snape, but this time the attempt was unsuccessful.

"Shut up, Potter. I AM speaking." His tone was firm, and Harry found it better to restrain his remark. "So. If we are talking about deserving nonetheless, I tell you: you deserve nothing like this. You don't deserve to be tortured and left alone. You did nothing to regret, to repent. Cedric died. It's true. But it wasn't your fault. It would have been your fault if you had known what would happen. But you didn't know. You didn't want your parents to die too. You didn't intend to harm anybody. The keyword is: intent. You can blame yourself only if you intended to harm the other. Do you understand me?"

Harry didn't dare to interrupt Snape's speech, he just nodded lightly.

"To be alone is the greatest punishment anybody can receive. And listen now: I DESERVE it. ME. NOT YOU. I committed many sins. I did terrible things when I was young and I didn't do them just by chance. I INTENDED to harm, to hurt, to cause pain. And I regretted them just because Quietus was killed. It was a very selfish motive for regret, don't you think? So, in this hell I deserve to die alone. But you are here, so if I decide to complete my repentance by dying alone, I just multiply the number of my sins because I hurt you by this." Snape waited until Harry lifted his head and looked into his eyes, then he continued. "And if you decide to punish yourself with loneliness, you hurt me," he added quietly.

"I've never thought about that before, sir," Harry's voice was calm and clear. His eyes were wide open and sincerity shone in them.

"I've already told you twice that I am happy to be here with you, haven't I?"

"Yes. You had," Harry nodded.

"Can we end this topic then?" a little hint of mock impatience sounded in Snape's voice.

"We can," Harry released his breath loudly.

Silence fell upon them. They lay on their back in perfect silence, just enjoying each other's company. Harry rested his head on Snape's shoulder, while the professor's arm was wrapped around his shoulders. This time he didn't think about the awkwardness of the situation, he couldn't feel it awkward any more.

"Do you know anything about my family?" Harry asked suddenly. "The Dursleys didn't tell me anything about them."

"About your parents?"

"No, not only about them. I have no living relatives except from Aunt Petunia, my mum's sister I live with. Do you know what happened with my other relatives?"

Snape closed his eyes.

"Yes, I know what happened with your grandparents. I wonder why Albus didn't tell you." Harry didn't say a word and after a while Snape went on. "The parents of your father were wizards, as you surely know. Your grandmother had a little shop in Diagon Alley, she manufactured and sold trunks... Yes, yes... My school trunk was your grandmother's craft too. She invented a new type of trunk called 'Shell.' The Shell-trunks can be used in many ways, as you can put into them more things than in every normal trunks. Nowadays, you can buy further develops of her models, perhaps you remember Moody's trunk..."

"The trunk with seven locks!" Harry cried out.

"Yes. It contained a little room too, do you remember?" Harry nodded. "That is the Shell-R model. R as room."

"Do you have a trunk like that?"

"No. I have a Shell-N9. It means that my trunk has nine locks, but neither of them reveals a room. It's a normal Shell-trunk."

"If you want to go on a holiday you don't have to carry numberless baggage with you. You can put everything you need in one trunk. If I get out of here, I'll buy a Shell-trunk for myself," Harry smiled daydreaming.

"I'll give you my own. It's made by your grandmother herself."

Harry shook his head.

"No, sir, thanks. It's yours. I don't want to take it from you," Harry lifted his hand when Snape opened his mouth. "No, sir. I want a trunk with a room in it. It's more interesting and I'll have a place of my own I can live in, if I get finally bored with the Dursleys."

"You surely won't, Potter. If I'll be alive, you will never live in a trunk, I swear." Snape sounded annoyed.

"Well, sir," Harry smiled more widely. "Then go on with my family."

The professor moved his head towards the boy and smiled back.

"Your grandfather, Harold Potter was an Auror and a good friend of Dumbledore. They've fought together against the previous Dark Lord, Grindelwald and if I remember correctly, Potter even saved the Headmaster's life in the final battle. This could be the main reason Dumbledore made exceptions with your father in the school..." Snape's face was full of emotions. Anger, mostly. "Even Dumbledore had prejudices towards some students. He idolised the Gryffindors and the Aurors' children and despised the Slytherins and the so called 'Dark Families' as mine was, and their children." The professors eyes went unfocused. "Well, in the most cases he was right. In my case, for example. Or in Lucius' case too. But... but in the beginning, he despised Quietus too, just because of our parents. And Quietus never went dark..." he snapped out of his trance and continued in a stronger voice. "I am sure Quietus was the main cause for Dumbledore to get rid of his ridiculous prejudices."

After a long break, Harry opened his mouth.

"But... Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald in 1945 and my father was born in the late fifties..."

"Well... Your grandmother was considerably younger than your grandfather." Snape smiled. "He met her in Hogwarts where he was teaching DADA and if I know well, your grandmother was one of his students."

"Was he your teacher too?"

"No," Snape shook his head. "Voldemort appeared in 1968, and your grandfather left the school to fight against him and train Aurors for the Ministry. I began school in 1969, the next year. I am quite suspicious your grandfather cursed the job, so that he could return after the war," the Potions Master smirked evilly.

"Were there problems with that job for 25 years?" Harry's eyes widened in obvious surprise.

"Exactly. I had six different DADA teacher during the seven years."

"Oh. I will have seven, probably," Harry smirked. "And what about their families? Didn't my grandparents have any other family?"

"I don't know anything more about your grandmother, but I heard that Harold Potter's whole family was slaughtered by Grindelwald as a revenge for his Auror-work."

"Deaths again..."

"Yes... And your grandparents were killed by Voldemort himself as a revenge of James Potter's actions as an Auror... One year before your parents' wedding."

Harry gulped and couldn't say anything. It seemed a miracle that there were people who survived.

"It looks like a common suicide of the wizarding world..." he said silently. "We kill the dark wizards and they kill us..."

"Like everywhere in the world... Even the muggles are killing each other."

"It seems to be a human characteristic... Why?" he sounded desperate.

"No one knows, Harry," Snape answered quietly. "If we knew the answer perhaps we would have done something against it."

After a long silence Harry went on asking.

"And the parents of my mother? Do you know anything about them?"

The professor's face suddenly became distant and a kind of close expression appeared on it.

"I didn't know them," his voice was hoarse and cold. "But... I was there when they were killed..."

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"I will kill that bastard, Remus. I swear you," Sirius's eyes seemed burning with the strong temper. "Whatever Albus says, I am sure he just doesn't dare to return because he finally had Harry killed."

Remus's face was lined by tiredness and by the previous day's sufferings. He didn't have any more Wolfsbane Potion and Snape didn't send him the usual supply, so his transformation was as painful as it used to be before... In reality this was the main reason Sirius knew about Snape's missing. The missing supply.

He leaned forward listening to his friend's outburst against the Potions Master, and he couldn't help but become angrier and angrier. It was just too simple to jump to the conclusion that Snape was the one responsible for Harry's sudden disappearing - and perhaps his death...

"He finally succeeded to fulfil his main purpose as a Death Eater..." Sirius fumed darkly. "How could Dumbledore trust him even for a minute? To trust a Death Eater... The disgusting greasy Slytherin... I said to him... but Dumbledore was so sure... and look now!"

Remus tried to keep himself calm. He could understand his friend's point, but... He believed Dumbledore. Naturally, even Dumbledore made mistakes in his life and trusted people undeserved to his faith, but Snape was... was another thing. He had been working for Dumbledore for more than ten years. And although he had always insisted that he had hated Harry, he had risked his life to save him if it had been necessary... Lupin sighed. He really didn't know what to think about Snape, but he wasn't so firm about his guilt.

"Disgusting worm... a Death Eater... Who knows perhaps he was one of Anne's killers..."

"That's enough, Sirius!" Lupin suddenly yelled. "Shut up that big fat mouth of yours or I will curse you!" he lifted his wand annoyed.

"Remus?" Black asked surprised. "What's the matter...?"

"Whatever happened to Harry was surely not Snape's fault. Harry himself fled from home, it wasn't Snape who chased him out of his family's safety. Voldemort's minions were surely watching the house and took him when he left the security wards. From that moment, Harry's fate was determined. Snape couldn't do anything against it. He is too weak alone even if he is on our side. And if he isn't, why didn't he return? He could say to Dumbledore that Harry was captured, and he was unable to help him and Voldemort killed him or what happened... But he didn't return and I think he was killed alongside with Harry too. Perhaps he tried to save the boy's life again..."

"What a fool you are, Remus! I, on the other hand, am sure that Snape finally killed Harry and he didn't dare to return and be questioned under Veritaserum so that his little secrets would slip out..."

"Dumbledore said he questioned Snape some months ago..."

"For his own request and by the serum offered by Snape himself... It's a little bit suspicious, don't you think? Moody doesn't believe Dumbledore in this matter and I believe Moody. He, too, questioned Snape before his trial in the Ministry, and he said that Snape confessed everything under Veritaserum: murders, tortures... everything, Remus."

Lupin crossed his arms before his chest.

"You say that I am a fool. And what about YOU?" his eyes were lit in anger and frustration. "I remember another long talk some months before... YOU were telling me things about your little pastime in the Ministry's prison... The Aurors' loving care... The two months you spent there... The beatings, the tortures, the forced Veritaserum until YOU CONFESSED EVERYTHING THEY WANTED TO HEAR!!! YOU told me! YOU! Do you remember yet? YOU confessed that you had betrayed James and Lily Potter just because you wanted them to let you die in peace."

Black lowered his head in obvious pain.

"Yeah... I remember..." He wanted Lupin to finish. But his friend went on mercilessly.

"And now, you believe Moody who questioned Snape... Perhaps in the same way you were questioned... Imagine it."

"You don't understand anything!" Black yelled suddenly. "Dumbledore saved Snape from Azkaban while he didn't ever tried to save me!"

"Perhaps because Snape NEVER confessed things he had never done! He didn't say things just to be left alone..."

"He lied to them!"

"And may I ask you, HOW do you know that? Snape can do anything, you'll never trust him. If he saves Harry from Voldemort's hand, you will find a good reason to hate him for that too, I am sure."

"He killed my sister."

"He didn't."

"It was his fault Voldemort killed my family."

"It was your 'fault' if you want to use this improper word! It was just a revenge, as you DO know very well! Revenge against YOU! Your work! Your deeds!"

The two men was standing facing each other furiously.

"So you support that slimy Death Eater rather than me!" Black shrieked.

"I don't support anybody. I just try to be objective."

" You aren't objective, you're blind. He's a murderer."

"He never tried to kill you. You, on the other hand..."

"You mean that...?"

"Yes, I mean it!"

"GET OUT!" Black lifted his fist to his friend's face and yelled.

"This is MY house, Sirius. YOU can leave if you want. But I ask you to stay," Lupin added the last sentence, suddenly more calmly. When Black didn't seem to understand the request, he repeated. "You can stay here, Sirius. Just don't yell at me. Please."

Very slowly, Black lowered his arms. He felt guilty.

"So... sorry, Remus. I lost my temper..." he stuttered silently.

"I see," Lupin smiled slightly and turned around.

They sat down to the sofa. Black leaned his elbows to his knees and buried his face into his palms. There was silence at least for twenty minutes. Lupin stared unfocused out of the window, Black just sat without moving.

He was finally the one, who broke the silence.

"It's so hard to confess your weaknesses... and knowing that somebody else you hate was stronger than you..."

Lupin didn't say anything. Just sat and listened to his friend intensely. The words came out slowly, Black seemingly needed to violate himself to speak, to confess his faults... But the time to find a scapegoat to blame was over.

"It was my fault. I betrayed myself... But I was so alone there... I had nothing to live for any more. It just... didn't matter. Do you understand?" he asked, the suffering was suffocating him. Lupin nodded.

"I think I do."

"Everything seemed to be meaningless. My family has died. James has died. I had pushed you away from me by my suspicion against you. Peter betrayed us. And... Judith left me too... she believed I was the traitor and some months later she married that Butler kid from Ravenclaw... When I heard that I wasn't able to hold on any more..."

His shoulders were shaken by a silent cry.

"I just wanted to die. I thought I would get the Dementors' Kiss if I confessed the sins I was accused of."

"You know that Snape was in the same situation? He lost his parents, his lover and his brother too..."

"Yeah, Quietus..." Black wondered. "The only person he loved, I think. He loved Quietus more than Anne..."

"And you and James..." Lupin began, but Black interrupted him.

"I know, please, don't go on. It seemed such a good prank..."

"You hated Severus and wanted to take a revenge on him by his brother... It was not fair..."

"I know, I know... but it was James' idea."

"He had already told me. You both should have been expelled, you almost killed a boy younger than you. It was only Quietus's plea that made you two go on in Hogwarts."

"And Harold Potter's, don't forget it..."

"Well... you gave Severus a good reason to loathe you. You nearly killed his brother. And after that him - by me for a chance. You have no right to hate him or to hold prejudices against him. You have to try and give him credit."

"It's so hard..."

"Both of you lost everything. And even if he wasn't in Azkaban..."

"He was, Remus," Black sighed heavily. "At least for four months, I don't remember correctly."

"How do you know?" Lupin paled.

"He was in the cell opposite of mine."

Lupin seemed shell-shocked. For a long time, he couldn't even open his mouth. In the end, he shook his head.

"You've never said that," he breathed choking the words out.

"You've never asked," Black replied flatly.

"I don't know what I should think about you any more..." whispered Lupin sadly, and looked out of the window, at the deep crimson clouds around the slowly downing sun. "I don't know…"

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	8. In dreams

Betaed by Lliey Gemini

Revised: 03-01-04 

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**Chapter 8 - In dreams...**

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"You were there?" Harry asked in trembling voice. In reality, he didn't want to hear, to understand the answer. He didn't want to be angry with Snape, to blame him, to know that he was one of the people responsible for his terrible childhood. One of his grandparents' murderers.

"Yes, I was there but I was late. Too late..."

"Too late for what?" Harry's need to know something about his family was stronger than the fear of deluding in Snape.

"There was a Death Eater meeting here, in Nightmare Manor, and Voldemort ordered me to brew some potions." Snape sighed and massaged his neck in obvious distress. "Yes, before you ask me, they were torturing or killing potions, I don't remember exactly. I was sent to my laboratory. After I began to brew them and I had some free time I wanted to talk to Lucius."

"He is Draco's father, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is," Harry could see that Snape was trying to arrange his thoughts. "In that time I had already worked for Dumbledore."

"It was after Quietus' death then."

"One or two months later, I just don't know the exact date. Those months were too crowded to remember in details." Snape was lost in his thoughts, so after some moments of silence, Harry asked another question.

"Weren't you afraid?"

"You mean I was afraid of Voldemort?" as Harry nodded, Snape shook his head firmly. "No. I wasn't afraid any more. My life felt meaningless. Anne left me when she saw the Dark Mark in my forearm. Quietus died by my parents' hand. I wished only to revenge his death as much as I could, and die. Nothing else."

"It had to be terrible..." Snape could sense Harry's compassion in his tone.

"It was..." he began to answer, but Harry interrupted him.

"I felt the same some days ago... Everything seemed to be meaningless. First of all surviving. And I felt I wasn't afraid any more."

Snape remembered the boy's distant and indifferent behaviour and his own panic as he saw him. Was he so panicked because once, long ago he had sensed the same?

"Being afraid shows that there are things in life, which count, which you care about. If you can't be afraid any more means that you lost your faith in life, in the meaning of being here…"

"Yes, I lost it for a while," Harry stared at the opposite corner blankly. "But you somehow made me feel again…"

Snape didn't know how to react to the boy's words, so he decided to continue the story he had begun.

"So, I tried to find Lucius, and, for a chance, I eavesdropped in on a conversation between Voldemort and three new Death Eaters. They received a task, a test of their loyalty. They should slaughter the whole Evans family. I was scared. I had no time to inform Dumbledore. They were about to go. I ran back to my laboratory and put out the fire under my potions. It would have been too suspicious if I had left shimmering cauldrons behind. You know, I couldn't return without being summoned. It took some time while I ordered everything and left. When I arrived to the Evans' house the three had already slaughtered your grandparents. Your mother was fighting against them on the second floor but they were stronger than her. She was loosing the battle and was hurt seriously. Then..." Snape's face went dark, darker than Harry had ever seen. "I killed them. All the three."

The professor shuddered and closed tightly his eyes. Harry could see a vein flickering on his temple.

"Professor," Harry said quietly and put his hand on Snape's supportively. "You shouldn't blame yourself for it..."

Snape pulled his hand under Harry's.

"I killed them. Three kids... fooled and deceived kids..."

"You couldn't have done another thing..."

"I could. I would have stunned them."

"But they were murderers."

"So was I."

"You tried to save a seriously injured girl. You didn't have time to ponder over your chances. Perhaps you didn't estimate the situation well, and you reacted too aggressively. But your intent was to protect somebody, not to kill. And you said, professor, that the keyword is intent."

"You are all too dangerous, Mr Potter," Snape sighed a little   cantankerously. "You always turn my words against me."

Harry grinned.

"That shows that your words are wise and true. On the other hand, you don't believe yourself. I have to remind you of your own wisdom again and again."

"Harry, listen. It's not so simple to forgive myself..." Snape snapped even more irritated. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I know. I tried to point out the same to you and you came up with the speech about intent..."

"Potter, you are..." Snape lifted his eyebrows, but this time his frustration was only mock.

"An impertinent prat. Hogwarts' New Celebrity. Exceedingly arrogant Quidditch Cup-winner. Or a nasty little boy who considers rules to be beneath him..." cheekily, Harry continued the sentence.

"These are MY words again..."

"Oh, I thought you didn't remember them..."

"I DO remember, Potter! But..."

"I see..."

"SHUT UP! I wanted to say: I do remember them but they are the proof of my own fallibility."

"Fallibility!? No. Certainly not. They are the perfect proofs of your crystal clear judgment and wisdom."

They stared at each other for long minutes in total silence. Then they burst into laugh all at once and Snape mussed in Harry's hair playfully.

"Harry," for the first time, he smiled widely, a real, joyful smile. "I am happy to know you."

Harry smirked back evilly.

"Welcome to the real world, sir," he said and, suddenly, shuddered. As he was trembling a dry, painful cough shook his body even more. Snape got frightened.

"Harry...?"

"It's nothing, si..." but he couldn't finish. A stronger cough cut his sentence. It was very sudden but it lasted only for some second. "I think, I got a little cold."

"How do you feel?" Snape asked anxiously.

"Arghh... It's a wonderful question, sir. Of course, I feel perfect. Although Icould use something to eat, something hot - or at least some bits of something cold... Drink a cup of hot chocolate and go to a REAL bed to sleep for some days... Otherwise, I feel good. Almost."

Snape's eyes glittered  fractious.

"Potter, don't think it's a joke..."

"I said almost, sir." Harry didn't let him to finish the sentence. "Can we go on with that little talk of us?"

Amused, Snape shook his head, but surrendered.

"What do you want to hear about?"

"You said you saved my mum."

"Yes." He didn't want to think about those events. But Harry had the right to know. This time, the emerging vision of the killed Death Ea... fool kids was so powerful that he had to struggle against them with full might. They were so young... 18, not more... "So, I saved your mother. I took her out of the house and I gave her some healing potions. I didn't bring her to Hogwarts 'cause I knew it would be extremely suspicious, and I had a hunch that somebody was snooping and spying for Voldemort from the staff. I didn't want to abandon my role as a spy." That evening was so full of strange events... Lily Evans's words... Snape wondered briefly how he was supposed to tell Harry the story. Finally, he decided to summarise it as much as he could. "When your mother regained conscience, she mixed me up with Quietus. He called me that name... it hurt me so much that I nearly hit her. Some times later, her sister arrived with her boyfriend, perhaps from the cinema? I don't know... and I left your mother with them and Apparated back to Hogwarts."

"Did your brother look like you?" Harry asked curiously.

Snape nodded.

"Fairly. When we were children we looked like twins even though I was older than him. He was two years younger than me. But as we grew, the differences became more and more accentuated. In the end, when he came to Hogwarts the resemblance wasn't so striking. He always wore short hair, unlike me, and he was terribly thin. And..." he smiled as he remembered his face "he was always so... calm. Balanced. Silent and kind. You could see these features on his face."

"And you were always sneering and scowling..." twinkles glittered in Harry's eyes.

"Er... uhm... you are right again, of course," Snape seemed pretty embarrassed. "I thought that it was a... man-like behaviour... I hated to appear childish... or so..."

"So it wasn't surprising mum mixed you up with him. And perhaps she didn't know that you changed sides..."

"She didn't know that I was a Death Eater either... No one knew. Except for Anne, but I am  sure she didn't tell her."

"I think you are right... She didn't tell her brother either. Sirius didn't know about it until you showed your mark in the hospital wing after the Triwizard Tournament to Fudge..."

"He... he didn't know?" Snape's face paled, and his eyes turned transfixed into nothingness. "She didn't tell him... and I... I never trusted her..." he seemed to be lost in his thoughts, like many other times this day, but a sudden cough of Harry snapped him out of his trance. Harry was jerking and coughing again.

"Are you cold?" he asked worriedly.

"Just a little..." his words were in contradiction to his behaviour as he cuddled to Snape tightly shivering. The professor sensed that the boy's body was warmer than the normal. He put his hand on the boy's blazing forehead.

"You... you have a fever, Harry."

"Oh," Harry smiled. "So that's the reason I feel so wretched..."

"How do you feel exactly?" Snape cast a closer look at the boy's eyes.

"I feel a little dizzy and weak. And my skin is burning, but it has been burning since... since Avery's day, so it's perhaps another thing." He coughed again.

Snape gulped. It seemed just too bad. But he couldn't do anything against it.

"I don't know what to do," he whispered, trying to close defeat out of his voice.

"Then go on with the story," Harry replied. "Did Dumbledore trust you from the day you returned to the Light Side?"

"I didn't re-turn, Harry. I just turned. And to answer your question... no. I think he didn't trust me until..." could he tell that to the child? It was again so hard to confess... "Until this January or February... I can't remember precisely. I had a little incident with Moody and he accused me of still being a Death Eater..."

Harry could see the pure venom and hatred in the professor's face.

"You don't like Moody," he stated simply.

"This is an understatement, Mr Potter," Snape scowled madly. "I hate him. I hate him nearly as much as I hate Voldemort."

"But... why?" Harry tried to sound calm, but he felt extremely nervous. Seemingly, it wasn't a good idea to ponder about Snape's trustworthiness...

"Moody questioned me in the Ministry. Together with Frank Longbottom," Harry didn't dare even to move. "Their session of questioning was like Voldemort's or worse. I could barely survive..."

"So this was why he knew about your past as a Death Eater!"

Snape glared at him.

"How do you know that?" he asked menacingly.

"I... do you remember the night when you heard a noise and you realised that somebody had been searching your office? And you met Moody in the staircase?"

Snape suddenly crossed his arms before his chest.

"So you were there as I supposed."

Harry blushed.

"Well... I was." He became a little bit frightened but Snape smiled after a while.

"I knew. And it was that meeting I went to Dumbledore after, and asked him to question me under Veritaserum. I... I wanted him to know the truth about his old friend. You know, when I learned that Moody would be the new Defence teacher, I pleaded Albus not to call him."

"Didn't he know about your torture in the Ministry?"

"Oh, he knew. But he didn't believe me. I told him everything after I was set free from Azkaban."

"YOU WERE IN AZKABAN?" Harry cried out in shock.

"For more than six months," Snape answered quietly. "But I was talking about Moody and Dumbledore. As I told you, the Headmaster didn't believe me. I finally forced him to give me that damned potion and question me thoroughly. About everything: my loyalty, my sins, and Moody's torture too. He, finally, did it. But he still didn't trust me. He sent the remainder of the potion to another Potions Master to check it. Just after that check he believed my story about Moody. Oh, by the way... THAT night was not Moody who knew about my past, but Crouch. Although I think he knew it from Moody. We had never met in any summoning before. I didn't know he was a Death Eater. Like Pettigrew. There were always quite a lot people in Voldemort's service whose identity he didn't let us know."

"I don't think so," Harry shrugged tiredly.

"What...?" Snape was stunned. The remark didn't fit to the line of their conversation.

"I don't think Dumbledore didn't trust in you until this year."

"But it's true."

"No, you are wrong about this," Harry announced firmly. "Perhaps he didn't want to believe your story about his friend. Yes, it had to be extremely hard to him to believe that his friend was a bastard. And," he continued suddenly not giving time to Snape to interrupt him, "you have been the Slytherin House's Head for many long years. He let you work with children. He believed you. He trusted you. He just didn't want to be disappointed with his friend."

Snape sighed and folded Harry in his embrace.

"You are so..."

The boy's harsh cough interrupted his sentence.

"...so sleepy," Harry yawned quietly after finishing coughing. "I think I will take a nap..." he curled at the professor's side, who pulled him closer under the cloak.

"You are welcome to do that, Harry."

He didn't realise when he fell asleep too.

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A loud cough woke Snape. First, he thought that some Death Eaters came to bring them to the torture chamber, then he realised, it was Harry who was coughing next to him in his restless sleep. It was a dry, strong cough that shook the boy's whole body forcefully. Snape reached his hand to Harry's forehead and got startled. Harry was burning-hot like a furnace and apparently, he had serious pains too.

Despite his own weakness he sat up, his heart racing as he looked the boy desperately. He wasn't prepared for a situation like this, even though it was not really surprising. They hadn't eaten for more than a week, they were tortured, almost drained of blood and locked in a wet and cold cell without proper clothes. It was a miracle the boy hadn't gotten ill before. But now... what could he do? Without his potions, his wand... he was totally helpless.

Then an idea came into his mind. He took some stripes of Harry's T-shirt, wetted them and winded around Harry's wrists and ankles and put another one onto Harry's forehead. The boy was unconscious, it was sure: he didn't even flinch. Snape had to fight his urging wish to fold Harry into his embrace... No. The child didn't need any more warmth, his own was enough to deal with. From time to time, he changed the hot robes to cold ones, but the fever didn't lower.

After several hours of unsuccessful trying he took off his T-shirt, wetted it and wrapped around the shivering body. There was a sudden reaction: Harry screamed and sat up, still semi-consciously.

Snape repeated this procedure again and again until it seemed to lower the temperature. The fever didn't go away completely, but the Potions Master thought it was sufferable now. Harry's sleep became quieter and clearly free of nightmares. But the fact that Harry didn't begin to sweat, worried him seriously. The fever would rise again, he was sure.

He was right.

After one hour he had to repeat the whole procedure anew again. And again, and again. In the short breaks, he examined carefully the boy's face. It was so strange.

No, not the face. It was the way he beheld it. It was true, there were some unimportant changes on that face caused by the past day's treatment, but he didn't focus on those. He was looking at the once so hated face, James Potter's face, the Golden Boy's face and now... it was simply Harry's face. Not the famous Harry Potter, son of his archenemy, not at all! There was only Harry, the boy who cared, the boy who endured, the boy who meant more to him now than everything and everybody else. Yes, EVERYbody, Quietus included. And THAT was so extraordinary strange. Freaky even!

Every now and then, sadness tormented him because of the last four years. If he had known... If he had tried... If he had given a chance for Harry... one little chance... nothing more. Some human words... human feelings... Albus warned him oh so several times. He had said he would regret his behaviour towards Harry. The headmaster possibly didn't think about a situation as serious as this... But then again...

The face without the childish glasses, but with experiences of various kind of pain looked young and old in the same time. Occassionally, the green eyes snapped open staring unfocused to the ceiling then shut again closing the surroundings out of sight, of mind...

Snape changed again the wet robe on Harry's chest. His fever was rapidly raising once more. This was the sixth time it happened. The breaks between the feverish periods became shorter and shorter, the last wasn't more then fifteen minutes. It was so frightening.

He would loose Harry, and he was almost scared to death. At least his wish of some days ago was about to be fulfilled: he would die later, and he could be there for Harry until his death, as the boy had wished.

He didn't stop to change the wet robes on the burning body though. He repeated his movements almost automatically, trying not to think about the ever nearer end.

Why did everything happen so fast?

A few hours ago, Harry had seemed just a little bit got cold. In ten hours (or it was more, he couldn't estimate it precisely) he turned to be near death, and he was so impotent again...

As Harry became more and more quiet, he decided in a desperate state of mind to talk to him. As if it could keep him back from those distant ways. He lifted Harry's head to his lap and began to talk.

He was talking about everything... His childhood, his relationship with Quietus, their games and funs... his first year in Hogwarts, the Quidditch games he lost because of James Potter, the mutual pranking with the Marauders... Then more serious topics: his first experiences of dark magic, his Defence teachers and duelling lessons, the Potions lessons with the Gryffindors, his first encounter with Anne Black, her brother's reaction... The day he had learned about Anne's death - but he didn't intend to talk about death when it was so near, so he changed the topic.

He talked about his dreams of the future. The future he would have with Harry when they got out from there... It was nothing more than a loud day-dreaming, full of his hopes, his wishes... something that seemed as distant as the sky above... it lay in a never-reachable future beyond all present expectances and experiences... 

"...I live in my family's house. You just can't imagine it: it's truly immense with two floors and twenty rooms... I don't really like to live in it, it's just too large for one person... Yes, I live on my own: all my family deceased, my parents were suspected to be Death Eaters and the Ministry was about to arrest them after you defeated Voldemort 14 years ago, but they decided not to let be given over to their enemies, so they committed suicide together. I was so shocked when I learned about it: that damned Frank Longbottom told me three months later when I was in Azkaban, just to torment me even more, to increase my pain... I didn't love them at all, but the fact that I couldn't give them a proper burial... I am sure you understand it. Many other members of my family were killed by Aurors, even the innocent ones, who didn't even participate in that blasted war. They were accused of supporting Voldemort... I have only a living second cousin remained, Andrus in Australia and an Aunt who cast off the Snape family. Andrus lives like me, totally alone. His wife left him and took away their children too and changed their names. So, there remained only two living Snapes in the wizarding world: Andrus and me."

"So, when we'll move in my house, you can have not only a room, but a whole floor if you'd like it. But we can arrange you a little apartment there if you want, with a room, a bathroom and a lab. No, I don't think of Potions lab, stay calm... just an absolutely general working room to write your essays for Potions classes... or even for Transfiguration, but only with special permission of course. A working room with bookshelves and books... All right, you could have some of those idiot Quidditch books too if you insist... You'll have plenty of clothes and robes and as many other idiot games as you like, and I will even play Quidditch with you, even if I'm totally sure you will exceed me without further efforts... Oh, but I will revenge you with Potions tutoring..." he smirked as he imagined Harry's annoyed face during those tutorial occasions, "you will have to spend just as much time in the lab with me brewing the most difficult potions I can find in the '_Moste Potente Potions_'as in the Quidditch field, I assure you..."

Suddenly, he heard a weak voice from his lap. He lowered his previously unfocused gaze and was thoroughly shocked by the smile invited him on the boy's face.

"Harry! You are awake!" he cried out in surprise.

Harry just blinked in return.

"Not really..." he whispered, licked his parched lips and closed his eyes. "May I ask you to go on...?" his voice faded.

Snape nodded, even though the boy couldn't see it.

"Of course," his heart was light and he felt the hope returning. "I will tutor you until you will the best in Potions... and perhaps in Defence too... though I don't know who Albus' next victim would be for that job... Perhaps we should unhex that damned job somehow and call that bloody git werewolf of yours back to teach..." The boy smiled again. Snape laid his palm to Harry's forehead, but it was still hot. He sighed deeply, but forced his voice to remain sounding cheerful. "Do you know that Albus wanted your father to teach that idiot subject? I insisted, naturally, as a member of the staff and I have to tell you, I was totally unfair. I was given my job only by Quietus' protection... Really... He convinced Albus that I would be the best person for that stupid Potions job, and somehow, the headmaster finally agreed with him. Imagine it! He knew without doubts that I was a Death Eater and Dumbledore was aware of it too I'm sure... I simply can't understand Albus... neither Quietus... Why did they do it?" he was wondering for a while. "So I insisted that your father wasn't skilled enough to become the Defence teacher. But... perhaps if he had accepted that job he would be able to keep it... I'm sure that your grandfather's curse would have let his son teach... But now, that James is dead, I think you are the only one who can take that bloody hexed Defence position without further negative consequences."

He saw that Harry lost consciousness again. He sighed and reached his hand to wet the robe again when he heard the door opening.

No! It couldn't be true!

Why didn't Voldemort leave them to die in peace?

Oh, STUPID question.

Snape felt a pair of arms grasping his shoulders hard so that he groaned in pain. Some moments later he was standing next to the door, leaning against the frame with shaking legs. Shit. He was too weak to do anything, even though he was left alone there. He could see three Death Eaters conferring with each other over Harry's body what to do. Finally, one of them picked the boy's limp body up, the other two grasped Snape and the process headed towards the torture chambers again.

Torture... The Death Eater carrying Harry disappeared in another direction, leaving Snape alone with his two comrades. But this time, torture was just a simple beating with some kicks... The two Death Eaters didn't even bother to let him lose consciousness. He was perfectly animated when they returned him back to the cell.

Alone.

Harry wasn't there. Harry didn't return after one hour either.

Two hours.

Three...

Snape was counting the seconds, the minutes, the hours...

No. It couldn't be true.

Harry should live!

Or he... well. Perhaps it was better for him to die.

But... If Harry was dead Voldemort would have told him... Just for tormenting him... for causing pain – which meant that  Harry had to be still alive...

Oh, no... This would be the next round of torture then. Separation.

Shit.

Damned Greatest Bastard.

Snape, suddenly, felt old and tired, and exasperated, and sickeningly hopeless.

No, no hope remained. They took away Harry. It meant that he would be waiting for the next occasion of torture because perhaps he could see Harry there... What a dirty game... A game with their feelings... More insufferable than the mere physical abuse. How long would it take to finish? When could they finally die?

His thoughts were wondering about Harry. Did he feel any better? Did they give him some healing potions? There were many of them in his store, labelled and put in order. The best one was on the second self from the window… but it didn't matter now. How did Harry receive the fact that they were separated?

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Harry felt considerably better. Free of pains and fever, he didn't even cough. He was just deadly hungry. In reality, it was his stomach, which woke him.

He opened his eyes.

He was in a cell, but this cell certainly was a different one from the other he shared with Snape. It was smaller and there was only one torch in it.

He understood abruptly.

They were separated from each other.

He closed his eyes again. No. He didn't want to accept this new turn of events. This place was a hell until now... why, how could it always be worse? Did they really deserve it? Were there any sins in this earth that deserved such a punishment?

He could feel his tears running down his face. He wanted Snape back, his reassuring presence, his short and sometimes sharp remarks, his oh-so-familiar, family-like figure...

Family-like... or better to say father-like. Yes. Even if Harry didn't know how a father should behave towards his son, or what a son was supposed to feel towards his father, he was sure he felt something like that. And Snape had behaved like a father, most definitely.

It would be so good... Snape had no family. He had no proper family too, the Dursleys weren't that, they hadn't even tried it. So why not? It would be so great if Snape were his father...

'Do you indulge daydreaming, Potter?' He could almost hear the Potions Master's deep voice. Yes. He had always used to indulge daydreaming, always in his life. If he had wanted to survive, to remain sane he had had to. And many of these daydreams were about family and parents... or Sirius's offer. Sirius, in these dreams, wasn't just a godfather to him. He was rather a father figure, and he imagined in numberless ways as Sirius asked him if he could adopt him... And as the man came for him to Privet Drive to save him from the Dursleys.

Now the main character of his dreams was Snape, and just as Harry began to imagine their supposed life together, he suddenly realised what Snape had done hours ago, when he had talked to him about the future: their future. He had been daydreaming too. And he had given a part to Harry in his dreams.

Harry suddenly felt as all his pain and sadness left him. Snape had dreamed him into his life! Did it mean that he...? Harry could barely believe this.

No. Snape surely didn't want to share his life with him. In no ways. Yes, he was very kind to him, perhaps even nice, but it was just because they were there, together in the hell, dying. If there were a possibility to escape Snape wouldn't take him to his home, surely... The Slytherin Head of House taking the Gryffindor Golden Boy to his home – the mere idea was ridiculous. They would be on good terms, that was more than sure, but Snape would never want Harry as a main part of his life.

But he had said that he wouldn't leave Harry to live in a trunk. Indeed, he had said that he would give him a room or a whole floor of his house if they managed to get out from their captivity...

Did it mean that...?

He had to ask Snape about it. He had to know. It didn't matter if they were supposed to die there and they would possibly never get out from Nightmare Manor to check Snape's trustworthiness. No. This question wasn't about future possibilities. It was about acceptation or rejection.

Nothing else mattered.

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"We have to do something."

Dumbledore's voice sounded more serious than ever. The people sitting around the round table nodded in consent.

"Aren't we late now, Albus?" a tiny voice asked tiredly. "It's more than eight days..."

"No, Mundungus, I am sure we are not late," the headmaster answered. "Quite the contrary, I think, now, we can hope we have time. Not endless time, but perhaps enough time to act. The fact that Harry wasn't found dead means that Voldemort keeps him in captivity and tries to torture and to break him before killing him."

"So, you mean that we have time in case Harry can hold on," Fletcher said bitterly. "I think that's not 'enough' time to find him. He could die in every moment."

"But we must at least try to find him, to give him a chance," Black's voice was full of desperate emotions.

"I agree with Sirius," Lupin added.

"I also," Mrs Figg joined Lupin's opinion. "Altough it seems that our search is a little bit..."

"...hopeless," Fletcher spat and lifted his hand to stop the possible interruptions. "I think we have nothing in our hand that would show us where this searching should begin. We just can't snoop around the whole British Isle, asking everybody: 'Sorry, didn't you see a certain Harry Potter, a boy with a scar on his forehead near here?' or "Sir, can you tell me where that damned Nightmare Manor is?'"

"No, Mundungus. We certainly won't ask your questions. We will search in more way simultaneously. Arthur," Dumbledore nodded towards a very tired-looking Mr Weasley, who lifted his gaze from the table.

"Yes, Albus?"

"I want you to do some er... researches in the Ministry archives, if you can..."

"How do you think that exactly, Albus?" Mr Weasley asked cautiously. "You know that the majority of the important files are in the Top Secret section…"

"We need the reports of the Death Eaters' questionings and trials. I am pretty sure there will be mentions of Nightmare Manor in them. You should collect those, as many as you can and send them to me."

"Albus... what you ask is..." Mr Weasley shook his head desperately. "I don't want to use the word 'impossible', but your expectation towards me is _almost_ impossible. The major part of the reports is surely in the Top Secret section, and I am not allowed there. As the non-secret reports... they are in another department of the Ministry, and it would be pretty suspicious if I go there just to read some documents... And even if I could reach those documents somehow... their amount..."

"Yes, I know, Arthur. But we have to try everything."

"Yes, I know," Mr Weasley sighed, even more tiredly than before. "I just... wonder if I can ask Percy to help me. You know, he works in the Ministry and he is more patient and accurate then me. His help would be priceless."

"I think it's a good idea, Arthur. He would do anything to find Harry."

"And the other team? What are we supposed to do?" Fletcher snapped impatiently.

"Patience, Mundungus, please," the headmaster's gaze was stern and authoritative. "Remus, Sirius," he turned to the two friends. "I want you to take a little trip to Scotland." He rolled out a piece of parchment, it was a map of the British Isles. "This part... and this, and if you have time, then this too," he pointed at some areas on the map. "Remus, I think you can use your connections there... you have to be thorough. These are the parts we couldn't examine well during the last years."

"We? What do you mean, Albus?" Fletcher asked.

"He and that git... Snape" Black spat disgusted.

"Sirius!" suddenly, Dumbledore seemed annoyed. "You have no right to talk about him in that manner!"

Black nodded tersely, but didn't reply.

"Snape?" Fletcher's voice was toned by disbelief. "Oh, no, Albus..."

"Stop. This is not the time we discuss about persons you despise," Dumbledore's tone held strong finality. He turned back to Black. "So? Do you agree to go?"

"Of course, Albus," Lupin answered quickly. "We'll depart just after the meeting."

"Good. And," he turned again to Fletcher, "I have rather a hard thing to ask you, Mundungus."

"Very well, do it!" Fletcher's eyes glittered playfully in anticipation. "I expect it hard enough to be worth accept it!"

"You will work with Arabella." Fletcher nodded. They had worked together several times in the last war, and they were good friends. "You try to capture a Death Eater and follow him to a meeting. And - fortunately - to Nightmare Manor."

"Whaaat? Albus, you are mental!" the younger wizard looked at him in total disbelief, his voice pitched in unbelief. "I'd rather go to the Ministry to dust off boring papers and read them!"

"Are you afraid?" Dumbledore asked innocently.

"Albus! How dare...?" he didn't finish the question. "No! Of course I am not! But... How could we find a Death Eater? How could we follow him without being noticed, perhaps for days? How could we Apparate with him? To Voldemort straight! How could we survive in front of him? And to return to report you..."

"Yes, I know this is the riskiest and hazardous task, and that is why I wanted you two to do it instead of Remus or Sirius. You are older than them, you have more experiences, you are well-trained Aurors - even better than those Ministry Aurors - and both of you are excellent strategists. And you will need these skills in this search. I don't expect to risk your life or to kill Voldemort. All I want is to find that Manor as fast as possible."

"But... if we could manage somehow to find it," Lupin spoke up quietly. "Who will save Harry from there?"

"Me, of course. who else? I will save both of them from there."

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	9. Searches

Betaed by Lliey Gemini

Revised: 04-01-04 

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**Chapter 9 - Searches**

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Alone, horribly alone for hours... perhaps even for days? Harry didn't know. He was cold, and he curled up as much as he could, but he still trembled in the freezing temperature.

Cold inside and outside. Cold everywhere.

It was just too hard to bear with the loneliness, the darkness and the coldness of the room. He was longing for Snape's company, their talks, the closeness. He needed all those so-called psychological facts which were now missing. He decided he liked psychology. If it was to constitute happiness?

The door creaked and swung open.

Death Eaters. Their sight became fairly familiar in those days. They marched through the door, their cloaks were wavering behind them, the masks billowed in the semi-dark. Harry involuntary winced as they grasped his arms and dragged him up from the floor.

Beating again.

Or something worse. Avery was between them. Harry's mouth dried in an instant. He attempted a gulp but his tongue stuck to his palate and he could feel as the anticipatory dread clenched his throat.

He was half-panicked by the time they, eventually, reached the torture chamber.

No one was there in. Neither was Snape. Harry felt deluded and his worry rose in his chest. What had happened to him? He wasn't dead, was he?

His panic overwhelmed him fully, every sense, every thought, every feeling of his were praying and begging silently in his head... He felt a sudden and almost insufferable urge to scream in his inner turmoil. Avery took out the razor.

Harry froze on the spot. He would die there. He would die there alone. There would be nobody to comfort, to hold, to care for him. Snape had undoubtedly died. Alone as him. He knew for sure he could not hold on. No, he wouldn't humiliate himself to beg and plead with them, never. He just wouldn't be able to remain in silence, because he strongly wanted to scream, to wail in his pain.

He shrieked as the razor touched his skin.

It ached. It was worse than the Cruciatus: helplessness and desperation added their effects to the man's work. The last, still throbbing cuts were opened again. The razor seemed unbearably hot as if flames were burning his back, side, chest, neck, legs, everything, everywhere, as the blade went on and on with slow and accurate motions.

Avery took off his mask as he had done the previous occasion too, and Harry could catch the signs of well-controlled madness and sadism in those glittering eyes, and that scared him even more. Last time, there was Snape's gaze to help him to balance that sadism with its concern, to anchor some of his senses into reality, but now, he was helplessly alone, perhaps forever.

Nobody knew he was there.

Nobody could save him.

Cuts and flames.

Fingers widening the cuts.

Nauseous feeling. Those fingers were violating him through the cuts. Harry was sure it was worse than a rape. Those fingers penetrated into his flesh and...

Screamed and screamed.

He would not survive this. Not the pain. The sickness. The violation.

No, not again. Never again.

He wasn't able to stay any more. His legs were trembling and buckling. Somebody punched him at his back and he fell on his knees in the immense pain. He rested his palms against the floor.

Something wet and slimy... his blood. Blood was everywhere, he could see that. He was kneeling in his own blood. But now, he felt, they would not allow him to die there. They would heal him again and again to re-live this miserable deserted feeling of being abandoned and at their mercy.

"My, my, Mr Potter. It's wonderful to hear your voice again. I nearly forgot how you scream. It's a priceless sound I assure you. And I promise I will give you a lot more opportunities to cry. To satisfy me."

Harry couldn't answer. His voice was gone. He lifted his gaze as bravely as he could to Voldemort. Their eyes locked.

In the eyes of Voldemort was coldness and hatred. For a moment Harry was sure he had seen this kind of sight before. Coldness and hatred... But... in Voldemort's case both of these feelings were controlled and used as a utensil. They were not real feelings. As Voldemort himself wasn't real. Just a living corpse.

Harry jerked.

Voldemort's evilness was something under-human, menacing and counted device to reach his aim: the total power and control above all.

No. Not all. He would not be controlled by Voldemort.

Never.

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Snape didn't dare to look up. He hopelessly wanted to block his ears somehow. Every scream of Harry tormented him to death. It must have been Avery with the razor, he thought. Harry was alone with that psychotic. He would murder the boy.

He frantically longed to be there. He knew Harry would be comforted by his presence, even though he didn't understand, why.

Harry...

The boy certainly believed that he was dead. They were separated, perhaps once and for all. He would never see the kind face of Harry again, he would never promise him stupid things, never talk to him about his parents or his school days. He would never hear Harry's wise-like remarks again.

The happy days were gone. Darkness covered everything.

After the boy's heartbreaking screams faded away, Snape began to comprehend the past days' so-called psychological events even deeper. While Harry had been there, he, the first time in his life, hadn't been alone. And the first time in his life, he had understood what it had meant to share life with someone else. To belong.

Even with Quietus in his company, he had been a loner, even with his mates, even with Albus... Something had always been missing and he could just guess what it had been.

When he had been alone previously he had never felt the absence or the lack of a company... or perhaps not never, but rarely, when he had been haunted by unspeakable and terrifying memories and nightmares and he had had to face them alone... but now he was going mad of being alone, being without Harry.

He could eagerly picture in front of his eyes the boy's present state, after almost five hours of torture, the cuts, the blood, the unconscious, weak and torn form lying helplessly and alone on the floor of a distant cell...

If Harry were here... He certainly wouldn't be able to heal him, but there would be a slight chance of sharing pain by each other's company.

Snape laughed bitterly. He, the ex-Death Eater, one of the most trained wizards was so feeble and powerless!

Covering his face in his hands he wondered again about his own change occurred in the last days, as he, the reluctant but nevertheless sworn protector of Harry Potter found himself in the role of a deeply scared and worrying parent. He gulped. Strange. And so... natural.

Moreover, he had to confess himself: this change was not just an accidental consequence of their common fate. Yes, the fate had had its role in this adaptation, that was undeniable, but Harry's features and merits had done their job in this process too.

First, Harry accepted his apology without further remarks. He had forgiven him truly for everything Snape had done against him. Then he had showed real worry for him from the very beginning, when he had seen his professor's feeble and miserable state. And he had never requested explanations about Snape's feelings, he had just accepted them, and had given his feelings in return. He had never protested against anything.

How could the boy be so sensible? He was so young... and he had grown up practically in a perfect emotional desert, despised, dejected, ignored... He should have been a total bastard or an insane git with eternal complaints over his life's misery, mourning over his lost chances... He should have been incurably hurt and fully incapable of giving and accepting positive emotions. And yet,  the boy wasn't such a kind of person. He could have been, but he wasn't nevertheless. Unlike the Greatest Bastard whose mortal and boiling hatred towards the world was caused certainly by similar childhood events to Harry's.

Voldemort rejected and despised the world and the only thing he lived for was revenge and hatred.

Harry accepted and cared for his surroundings and the only thing he was longing for was mutuality. He desperately wanted to be accepted.

Harry had accepted not only their situation, but even him, the potions monster. And he, the absolute loner. couldn't help but accept him in return.

It would have happened the same, Snape now was definite about it, if he had given a chance to Harry before... The chance he had never given. Right now, it was just too late to regret.

Snape sighed deeply. And he made the third oath in that pit of death: if they could manage somehow to escape, he would give everything to Harry that he merited. He would give him care. Comfort. Home.

Family.

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Days...

Tortures...

Screams...

Everything seemed an endless process to a non-existing goal. It was a lone process. Always alone.

Alone to hear Harry's screaming, and alone to bear the boy's systematic, everyday torture.

It couldn't be worse, he had thought the first time. And it always was.

Then came the day when he was dragged out of the cell to the chambers in the first floor. It meant Voldemort had decided to torture Harry alone was too boring. Snape was so weak because of the lack of meal and uneasy sleeping that he couldn't move his legs normally, so the accompanying Death Eaters had to carry him there. The situation was so humiliating in itself that Snape desperately wanted to die in shame.

And in the chamber he was given his first real and almost insufferable beating. Just beating, no curses or potions. It took hours. Ten Death Eater beat him in a row and when the last finished the first began anew. His robes were ripped from him, his only cover was his own blood and the bruises and injuries.

After a while he realised that he was moaning. Then crying. Then shrieking. But finally he managed only to groan in a hoarse voice rolling in his own blood and vomit.

Everything hurt. He couldn't breathe properly. When he thought they couldn't invent any new way to cause pain, Malfoy came with his usual hammer.

He was petrified by the dread as two of the bastards lifted him and made him kneel next to a desk. He couldn't even protest. He just watched numbly as a third one fixed his hands to the desk with a quick bonding spell. He knew precisely what would come. WHO would come.

He couldn't believe it before. That man had been his friend. His best friend even. And now...

He had never hurt him intentionally, not even after he had changed sides. He had always looked after his son as long as Draco had been in the school... Despite everything that had happened, they had remained friends... Or at least he believed so.

The proof of his failure stood now in front of him. Snape writhed and averted his face from the man's sight. Now, he would experience personally this kind of pain too. Not that he had been longing for it.

The first blow was unexpected. His eyes rolled into his skull and he felt a metallic taste in his mouth. Blood. He had bitten his own tongue. It was worse than it seemed. It was fortunate he didn't wet himself. And although he had been positive a few minutes ago that there had been no power left in him to cry out, he screamed and shut his eyes tightly concentrating on his breathing. He didn't want to see his hands. Never.

When his first finger was smashed, Lucius gave him a little break.

"What about this kind of pain?" Voldemort asked with mock curiosity. "I was afraid I would never hear your voice again... But Lucius has a REAL talent to persuade you to open your mighty, stubborn mouth, my professor. At least young Potter can hear that you are still alive."

First, this last sentence brought an immense relief for the torn Potions Master. Harry would know he was still alive! But a moment later, he became unsure. Perhaps this bit of information would decrease his pains. Or would it increase them? His breath hitched to the next blow. Harry could hear him screaming, and the boy knew he could suffer the various torments in silence. What would he think about his cries? The child was so compassionate...

By the time Lucius finished his work with his left hand, Snape passed out. Instead of his beloved "ennervate" curse, the Dark Lord decided to use one of the Potions Master's potion. The Vigilae Potion. This would be extremely bad, Snape thought in his half-conscious daze. Not to mention the fact that the other potion Voldemort poured into his throat was the Dolorem Facio. Snape, for a moment, was surprised that Voldemort didn't use that before. With the combined use of the Dolorem Facio and Cruciatus you could torture anybody to madness... like the Longbottoms, who had been tortured in the same way. This potion was intended to wipe away those gaps between neurons, which were intended to prevent the brain from going insane in an insufferable physical pain by causing fainting or dumbness in the nervous system.

This was one of his own developments. He had invented it, when he worked in the Institute for Health Potions Researches. How ironic!

The Potions Master knew what was about to happen.

After a while he was absolutely unable to give even a tiny, weak sound. The magical bonds loosened and he fell to the ground. Consciously. Damned Vigilae!

The next moment, he felt a cautious, kind hand on his shoulder.

"Pro...professor," somebody cried over him and hot tears hit his bare skin. It was Harry.

He heard as the Death Eaters ordered the boy to bring him back to the cell. Despites his weakness he struggled to stand up, to walk on his own feet. It wasn't easy. But they did it somehow.

The big, brown door slammed behind them. THEM! They were again together.

With the remnants of his power Snape dragged himself to the familiar corner and sat down leaning against the wall. Harry, tottering, followed him, after collecting the miserable cloak from the floor. He knelt beside his professor and putting Snape's sweater off himself, dressed the naked man carefully. Snape couldn't even protest. He was conscious because of the potion, but he wasn't really awake. He didn't want the boy to do this, but he was impotent to do anything against.

Harry pulled the sweater over his head slowly. Then he lifted a hand to slip into the sleeve of the robe, when he spotted the fingers. Snape saw that he was very close to fainting. But Harry, regaining all his willpower slipped the unrecognisable limb in the sleeve as carefully as he could. Then the other one until Snape was clothed.

The sweater was bloody, and unbelievable dirty. But it was warm too, the warmth of a living body... Harry's body. Or was it warm because of the boy's care?

Snape didn't know when Harry began to sob. The time he had caught the sight of his hands? His body? His consciousness?

Harry pulled the professor's legs to his chest ("conserving the warmth..." he muttered sobbing) and wrapped the cloak around them with kind motions.

He was still sobbing when he nestled himself to Snape's side and wrapped his arms around him.

And he continued to sob for a very long, long time. Snape wanted to caress his head, but being afraid of the pain of his hands decided not to.

"All right, Harry," he muttered after a while. "You can finish it. You don't need to cry."

"Don't I?" the boy replied weakly. "Why don't I need to cry? I have very good reasons to cry, sir."

There was no reply to this remark. Harry was right.

"We have some reasons to be happy too," the professor sighed. "We can be together again."

"Are you happy to be with me?" the boy's voice sounded hopeful.

"Potter, for god's sake, haven't I told you it before? Yes, I am happy to be with you. In fact it seemed a damned long time when we were separated," he could feel a small hint of anger but his voice was so weak and hoarse that all of it came out as a silent whisper. The arms around him became tighter and his anger disappeared. "If I remember correctly I told you something about my house and you being around me, and I didn't change my mind. Is it enough for you to calm down?"

Harry suddenly blushed.

"You know, sir, I... when we were separated I thought to ask you if you said that seriously or not..."

"As you surely noticed, Mr Potter I am always serious," he tried to say it in a stern voice but he failed. Harry cracked a half-smile.

"I thought that in the school. But since when we are here together, I noticed other features of yours, professor."

"Which are...?"

"Er... well..." Harry didn't know how to answer. "You are sometimes joking..."

"Sometimes. Yes. But I am not joking when I talking about themes of great nicety. And your wish for a proper home and family is a topic of that kind."

"Do you mean that...?"

"Exactly," nodded the professor. "Although I'm afraid I will never have the opportunity to prove it."

"It doesn't matter, sir," Harry's sound was barely above a whisper. "The fact you... accept me, is enough for me." After some minutes he added. "No, it's not just 'enough'. It's everything."

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Percy was nervous. He didn't want to do this, he hated to do this snooping. He was afraid of his colleagues who could find him searching in restricted documents, and he was angry because he hadn't found anything for two days.

Perhaps he was looking for them in a wrong place. He wanted to know something about that damned Nightmare Manor, but the normal documents didn't mention it at all. He had to find another way to approach this problem. His father said that the Manor was an important meeting place of You-Know-Who's followers. So he had to do a research in the Death Eater's files. But those were strictly restricted. The majority of them was in the Top Secret Section.

The others, a little bit more legal possibility, were the Aurors' files. The other side of the same coin. The non-restricted side of the same game.

His idea was brilliant. After he pulled out a huge amount of AU (Aurors') files and cast on them the Revelo spell ("Revelo Nightmare Manor!" - it was a special edition of the spell, he invented it himself and was very proud of it) he could see as the papers began to spin roughly and suddenly, a file lay in front of him on the table. A light, greenish aura surrounded it.

SNAPE, Quietus Salazar - was written on the top of it.

Percy's eyes widened. Snape as an Auror? Was it some kind of joke? Or that bloody Revelo modification wasn't as effective as he had thought? He shrugged. Whatever the cause was, he would examine this file, and if he proved to be wrong, he would try another way to search.

SNAPE, Quietus Salazar – he read again and suddenly, he realised: the name wasn't the greasy Potions Master's name. He was Severus, wasn't he? No, he WAS Severus, undoubtedly. But who was this other Snape, then?

A sudden curiosity made him open the dossier. It was quite a general, very boring-like file, but Percy was used to reading loads of this kind, and he could pick the important elements of them easily. He began to read and took a piece of parchment and a quill to make notes if it was necessary.

***

***

ID: 03960881010

Date/Place of birth: 02.04.1960, Snape

Date/Place of death: 02.12.1979, Nightmare Manor (place unknown) 

{'_So he had died... And he had been so young..._' Percy thought. In that place, he was looking for. But the file said 'place unknown'. '_Damn it!_' But his curiosity forced Percy to go on.}

Father: SNAPE, Severus Salazar

            Father's ID: 0392856457

            Father's date/place of birth: 05.11.1928, Snape

            Father's date/place of death: 04.11.1981, Snape

Mother: NOBLESTONE, Quirke Athena

            Mother's ID: 0493112539

            Mother's date/place of birth: 02.02.1931, Hogsmeade

            Mother's date/place of death: 04.11.1981, Snape 

{'_The same date and place of death as the father's. Interesting. It could be more than a mere coincidence._'}

Other family member(s):

Brother: SNAPE, Severus Nobilus

            Brother's ID: 03958912111

            Brother's date/place of birth: 05.03.1958, Snape

            Brother's date/place of death: ((alive))

{'_So, this guy was the greasy git's brother! And... Snape was younger than his parents?_' Percy was shocked. He always thought the Potions Master as a mean, old git. But 37 was not that old!}

Marital status: single

OWL: O, 100% (cert. no. 14/1976)

NEWT: O, 100% (cert. no. 14/1978)

AU: O, 99,3% (cert. no. 2AU/1979)

{It seemed impossible. He got only 94% for his OWLs and 94,1% for his NEWTs. How could somebody reach such a level? Percy was envious. Then it came to his mind that the boy was dead. He was alive. GREAT difference.}

Details:

1971 - Hogwarts, HSWW

1976 - OWL max. results

1978 - NEWT max. results

01.09.1978 - Ministry's Official Auror-training (AuT2245/IN/322/1978)

01.02.1979 - Appointed Auror (ranked 1st class) (App12/IN/310/1979)

21.03.1979 - Gave his notice and left the Ministry (Not24/IN/311/1979)

01.04.1979 - suspected OoP activity (see OoP112/IN/44/1979)

{'_OoP? What can it be?_' Percy wondered shortly, and wrote down the information. He would have to do another research about this topic later.}

02.12.1979 - died (cert.no. D-13342/3/1979)

Remarks:

1. To the AU training recommended by Harold Winston Potter (ID: 039203345129, AU 011)

{'_Surprises over surprises. A POTTER recommending a SNAPE to the Ministry's AU training? What do all this damned matter mean?_' Percy felt so stupid... and this feeling was so unfamiliar to him...}

2. Possibly killed by Voldemort in Nightmare Manor (place unknown), based on the testimony of SNAPE, Severus Nobilus, ID: 03958912111, under the effect of Veritaserum (brewed by STOLL, Nicholas, ID 0393902354 PM cert. no. PM10H/14/1971) (see: Test/SNAPESN/134/DE/12/1981; DE/76/1982; DE/97/1982)

{Percy gulped. There was a Nightmare Manor. And other things. His professor was undoubtedly a Death Eater. There was the proof: the documents signalled with DE. And the mean git had been there when his brother had been killed, he had been probably one of his murderers. Percy's mouth went dry and he became very nervous. His quill moved fast as he copied the details. Snape, the thoroughly hated Slytherin professor was indisputably a bloody Death Eater. How could Dumbledore let him teach? He had to talk to his brothers, all the three of them and Ginny! He had to warn them! Later, he calmed himself. He had work to do now. He went on.}

3. Suspected OoP auror member. Resisted the persuasions. (see OOP/SNAPEQS/IN)

{'_Oh, this OoP stuff again._'}

4. Family suspected DE activities - reliability questionable. (see DE/SNAPESS/IN, DE/SNAPESN/IN, DE/SNAPEQA/IN)

{Greater shock. '_Really, an amazing family. Three Death Eaters and an Auror. An Auror who left the Ministry for this suspicious OoP thing._' Percy was not stupid. This OoP had to be something like Voldemort's affairs, something prohibited and probably dangerous - this was clear from the way the file mentioned it.}

Attached documents:

OWL, NEWT, AU certificates

Extract from the testify of SNAPE, SN (Test/SNAPESN/134/DE/01/1982)

Record about the circumstances of Quietus Snape' death

{Oh, Percy thought. Finally something interesting...}

***

***

(...)

Snape: My father wanted him to become a follower of Voldemort.

Interrogator: What did he think about your father's persuasion?

S: He refused it several times. Finally, my father decided to force him with physical abuse and took him to Voldemort directly.

I: When?

S: On December the 2nd, 1979.

I: Where?

S: In Nightmare Manor.

I: Where is this Manor?

{A good question. If he was lucky he would have the answer.}

S: I don't know the exact place of it. I suppose it is situated in North England or in Scotland.

{He wasn't lucky.}

I: I see... What happened there?

S: He was abused physically and by curses for five hours. He didn't give up his resistance. In the end, Voldemort asked him if he was about to join him. He refused it. Then Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on him and he died.

I: Did you abuse him too?

S: In the beginning, yes. I hoped to find a way to save him. I needed time. After the fifth round I realised I was impotent. Then I refused to abuse him any more. My father cast the Cruciatus on me several times, but Voldemort prohibited him to kill me...

(...)

***

***

Oh, how touching... The greasy git wanted to save somebody! Unbelievable! But... this testimony was made under Veritaserum that meant... Well... he was his brother after all... Percy shrugged.

The searching didn't give real results. Perhaps tomorrow...

Percy sighed and began to order the papers to put them back in their place, when he caught something just behind the 'SNAPE, Quietus Salazar' file.

'SNAPE, Severus Nobilus' was written on it.

If he felt shock before, he was now petrified. According to the previous file, the git was a Death Eater. And now he could see his documents between the AU's! What was going on???

Suddenly he forgot about Nightmare Manor. He wanted to read that file too at every cost. But as he reached his hand to open it, he suddenly noticed the greenish light around the document. The spell he cast! Oh, probably now, he would know!

He opened the file greedily.

***

***

ID: 03958912111

Date/Place of birth: 05.03.1958, Snape

Date/Place of death: -

Father: SNAPE, Severus Salazar

            Father's ID: 0392856457

            Father's date/place of birth: 05.11.1928, Snape

            Father's date/place of death: 04.11.1981, Snape

Mother: NOBLESTONE, Quirke Athena

            Mother's ID: 0493112539

            Mother's date/place of birth: 02.02.1931, Hogsmeade

            Mother's date/place of death: 04.11.1981, Snape

Other family member(s):

Brother: SNAPE, Quietus Salazar

            Brother's ID: 03960881010

            Brother's date/place of birth: 02.04.1960, Snape

            Brother's date/place of death: 02.12.1979, Nightmare Manor (unknown)

Marital status: single

{'_So nobody wanted to marry the greasy, hook-noised, mean git,_' Percy smirked evilly.}

OWL: O, 95,2% (cert. no. 22/1974)

NEWT: O, 94,6% (cert. no. 21/1976)

PM: O, 100% (cert. no. 1PM/1/1978)

{This family was really annoying with their results. The professor seemingly wasn't as clever as his brother, but his results were still higher than Percy's. He felt a strong loathe.}

Details:

1969 - Hogwarts, HSWW

1974 - OWL high results

1975 - Advanced Potions' Studies in HSWW at Agilus O'Peck (ID: 03913567344)

{O'Peck! His dad and mum told them a lot of stories about the old Potions professor, who had NOT been the Head of the Slytherin House, indeed, he hadn't been a Slytherin either. He had been a Gryffindor... and had accepted the disgusting Slytherin as his apprentice? Well, life was rarely logical.}

1976 - NEWT excellent results

01.09.1976 - work for Institute for Health Potions Researches

{Eating Death and making health researches? Simultaneously? Good job!}

1977-1981 - suspected DE activity (see DE28103/IN/03/1977 and attached documents)

{Well. It seemed he was really a DE, and not an AU.}

01.14.1978 - appointed Potions Master (ranked 1st class)

01.09.1978 - appointed Potions' Professor in HSWW

02.12.1981 - captured by Auror AU2301 in HSWW, official questionings made by AU781, AU910 and AU1103 (records no. DET14/1981, DET22/1981, DET98/1981, DET119/1981, DET255/1981, DET376/1981, DET388/1981, DET401/1981, DET455/1981, DET475/1981, DET544/1981, DET591/1981, DET3/1982, DET9/1982, DET13/1982, DET16/1982, DET22/1982, DET43/1982, DET65/1982, DET76/1982, DET88/1982, DET97/1982, DET113/1982, DET127/1982, DET156/1982, DET178/1982, DET201/1982)

{'_How many reports? Does it mean that Snape was questioned so many times? He surely denied everything. But... He was given Veritaserum, wasn't he? Then... why was it necessary to question him so many times?_' Percy finally shrugged and went on.}

29.01.1982 - attested DE activity, removed to Azkaban (sentence no. AZ/IN/39/DE/1982)

{'_It had to be an accident that this file was here, between the AU documents. But it was a lucky accident nevertheless,_' Percy wondered. So Snape had been in Azkaban. Just the right place for people like him.}

01.07.1982 - trial reclaimed by DUMBLEDORE, Albus (ID: 03834119801)

04.08.1982 - released from Azkaban (doc. no. AZ/OUT/1/1982)

{'_WHAT? DUMBLEDORE?_' Percy couldn't know what to think anymore.}

01.09.1982 ongoing Potions' Professor in HSWW

1985 ongoing member of the International Potions Master's Alliance (no. 2808/1985)

1995 - suspected DE activity (see DE21/IN/03/1995)

{'_STOP!_' Percy wanted to stand up and sprint home or to his father with the news. Dumbledore had been wrong. He had defended the undeserved git and this was the answer of his trust! If Snape had been a Death Eater 14 years ago and now too, that could mean only one thing: that he had been a Death Eater during the whole period between, their full school-time! He froze. He had to do something. To talk to dad. To the Minister. To Dumbledore. To everybody. To print in the Prophet the TRUTH: that that bloody git was a Death Eater!

He had to struggle to calm down enough to continue. No. The Minister didn't believe that Voldemort returned. But... This remark was kind of a proof of that, wasn't it?

What should he do?

Percy decided. He would become an Auror. This would be the best way to protect his family.}

Remarks:

1. About his Potions Master's activity see UPM/SNAPESN/IN

2. About his DE activity see DE/SNAPESN/IN

Attached documents:

OWL, NEWT, PM certificates

Confession of DE activities (Test/SNAPESN/11/DE/01/1982)

{Here was the proof! But... by this time Percy was completely confused. He couldn't understand. Was Snape a Death Eater or not? If he indeed had been, why had he been released from Azkaban?}

***

***

(...)

Interrogator: Are you a Death Eater?

Snape: Yes.

I: How long have you been serving You-Know-Who?

S: For 3 years.

I: Have you committed sins in his service?

S: Yes, I have.

I: Murders?

S: Yes.

{'_The confession HAD to be under Veritaserum,_' Percy thought.}

I: Exact number of people you murdered?

S: Eleven.

I: Their names?

S: Joseph Galvany, his wife and two children, Patricia Wrights, Cathrin Lighthouse, Andrew Waite, his wife and their child and three young men, I don't know their names.

{'_Wh...what? The Galvanys were killed by this greasy, bloody, fucked, evil..._' It was just unbelievable. Percy shook his head in shock. All of a sudden, he felt weak. It couldn't be true. And then again... it WAS. His mum would never believe it. Never. He should take this file home somehow. But he knew it was impossible to walk through the Security Watch with such important files. He shook his head again.}

I: Did you kill them for pleasure?

S: No. I killed eight of them for the order of Voldemort. The three unknown men I killed in defence of Lily Evans.

I: Were you under the effect on Imperius during your assassins?

S: No.

I: So you killed them for your own decision.

S: For Voldemort's order.

I: But you obeyed him.

S: Yes, I did.

I: How many times did you use Unforgivables?

S: 11 times Avada Kedavra and 79 times Cruciatus.

{THE BASTARD! Surely, he used the Cruciatus on the Galvanys too...}

I: Imperius?

S: I've never used that.

{Ahm. That was interesting. Why not?}

I: Do you consider yourself innocent?

S: No. I am guilty of all of sins mentioned above.

{This answer was implicated by the serum or by the guilt? Surely, by the serum...}

I: You said you acted for orders.

S: Yes. But it was my free decision to join Voldemort. I did what he asked me to do. I am guilty.

{No, not the serum. There was no question to be  answered. It was unbelievable, but that blasted git had felt guilty for his deeds. Uhmmmm.....}

I: Severus Nobilus Snape you are found guilty in 11 murders, 79 attested tortures and 90 uses of Unforgivable curses. Your punishment will be a life imprisonment in Azkaban.

(...)

***

***

For long minutes, Percy sat on the chair, staring unfocused out of the window.

He didn't know what to do with all this stuff he had found out today... how to tell his mother and father... how to react...

Everything seemed so blurry and chaotic.

For the first time in his life, Percy was totally uncertain and helpless.

***************************************************************************


	10. Blacks, Snapes, Potters and others

Betaed by Lliey Gemini

Revised: 05-01-04 

***************************************************************************

**Chapter 10 - Blacks, Snapes, Potters and others**

***************************************************************************

"When, do you think, they will come again?" asked Harry weakly.

"I don't know. Why?" Snape's sound was a little bit irritated.

"I think... it's more than 20 hours that they let us sit here in peace. It so... unusual of them."

"Yes, although I am glad they temporarily forgot about us. I don't feel... prepared for new..."

"Neither do I..." answered Harry and yawned. "Some water? Aren't you thirsty?"

Snape just nodded. Harry stood up and walked to the door to fetch the jar, and Snape could catch a glimpse of Harry... Harry's body. Clotted blood all over the whole figure, some still oozing injuries, covered by some ridiculous remainders of clothes stuck in the cuts...

"You look terrible," he mumbled sadly.

"You too," the boy replied, then he added simply. "We will die here."

"Yes. We will die here," echoed Snape Harry's words. When the boy lifted the jar to let him drink he automatically reached his hands to grab the pot... then he lowered them as quick as he could and hid them behind the cloak. He didn't want to see them – and didn't want Harry to see them either.

"No need," Harry shook his head. "I've seen them yesterday, do you remember? I won't freak out at them."

"It's me," Snape answered weakly. "I don't want to see them."

"Are they aching?" Harry sounded worried.

"A little... better today. Just... throbbing and I have to be careful not to try to move them," he smiled an encouraging smile, but it didn't succeeded the way he wanted. Harry stared at Snape even more concerned. Suddenly, his professor seemed so... human. Or weak?

"Are you all right, sir?"

"No, Harry," the black eyes were distant and empty. Harry remembered that he had already seen a certain kind of emptiness in those eyes during the four years, but that had been another thing... THAT emptiness had radiated total lack of interests and emotions, this one, however, was a sign of resignation and acceptation of the situation, and pain. Spiritual, emotional pain.

Harry didn't say a word. Just put the jar on the floor after he drank and with careful touches washed the blood off from the professor's face.

"You have a fever," he mentioned matter-of-factly.

"Oh, it seems to be my turn..." it sounded pretty bitter and Harry jerked.

"You are too exhausted."

None of them spoke. After a while Harry finished washing his face.

"Thank you," he said softly as he lowered the piece of rag.

"For what?" Snape looked puzzled.

"For giving me family," he sat at the professor's side. "For caring. You know, yesterday was my life's best day. When you said that I could live with you."

"You not only COULD. You are actually living with me."

"No, sir. I am actually dying with you," Harry corrected him smirking.

"Ah, indeed."

"Do you know that Sirius too offered me to stay with him?"

"To stay? He is not staying if I remember correctly. He is running, isn't he?"

Harry appreciated Snape's effort to be humorous and smiled.

"Well, he is. But there was a moment when it seemed that I could live with him."

"When?" The question was short, but Harry could hear real curiosity. He suddenly felt a little embarrassed.

"Ah... After the events in the Shrieking Sack, when we... stunned you..." He barely dared to see the professor's face and became shocked when he caught him smiling.

"Oh," said Snape in thought. "It was a well-performed spell of the three of you..."

"You didn't seem to be happy then..." Harry risked a short remark.

Snape's smile widened.

"Well. I WASN'T too happy. You can imagine it, Harry... I, one of the most trained wizard in our world was stunned by three children... not to mention the fact that it just happened in front of the man who had been always waiting for this moment in his whole life..."

"Don't you think that's an exaggeration, professor?"

Snape's face suddenly darkened.

"I am not sure you want to hear about all this stuff, Harry," he answered thoughtfully.

"About what?"

"About the story of Black and me and our mutual hatred."

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Er... sir, if you don't want to talk about it I won't be mad... perhaps just a little bit... disappointed." Harry closed his eyes then added. "You know, the thing I hate most in my life is that everybody knows more details about me and my parent's past than me. It's truly... disturbing."

"All right, then, Harry, though this story has nothing to do with your life or your parents', not really at least.... Where should I begin?"

Snape leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Harry sensed a little trembling from the man and carefully touched his forehead. The professor sighed and smiled at Harry.

"You know, you remind me of my brother, Quietus so much, Harry... So, well, I begin." Snape inhaled deeply. "Our war, I mean the war between me and your father's group started in the last month of our second year, in a Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. I don't remember any more which house won that game, but an accident happened there. A mere accident, really. I was a beater of my team, and that damn... so Black was a Chaser just like your father. James Potter didn't play then, he was elected to the team in the next year. But Black was a bloody good flier and McGonagall let him play."

"I've always thought, that my father was the best..." wondered Harry. "Everybody said that. And say that I am a natural at Quidditch because I inherited his abilities."

"He was really good, but you're better than him. Much better. And I think your flying abilities are not a family heritage, but your... let me say this way: simple... features of yours alone. You are good at Quidditch because of who you are and not because of your parents or family..."

"I see," Harry smiled. It was just so good to hear that he wasn't the infamous Harry Potter just because of his parents. That he had abilities and features of his own that made him himself.

"So in that match I hit your godfather with a Bludger and he fell from his broom and nearly died. It was nothing but a bloody accident, but he, from that time was absolutely convinced that I wanted to kill him though. I don't know why your father believed him, but he did it nevertheless, so in our third year, which was the following year, I realised I became their constant target. I couldn't understand why, but I didn't really care until..." his voice faded.

"Until...?"

Snape opened his eyes and looked at Harry.

"Until they decided to play an idiot prank on me, which nearly killed Quietus."

"Ho...how?" Harry was stunned. "They didn't want to harm him, did they?"

"No, now I think no," Snape shook his head. "But then, I was deadly sure that they wanted to hurt him. It was a stupid prank with some potion elements. They told Quietus that all the third years would need a Mandrake in their next potion and I would be most likely happy, if he had brought me one from greenhouse three... which was naturally restricted for all the first years, but Quietus didn't know. And he didn't know anything about those damned mandrakes too..." Snape seemed suddenly really angry. "Those idiots forgot to told him not to pick the plant from his pot, and Quietus didn't want to steal the jar so he picked it out..."

"The mandrake's cry..." whispered Harry in terror. "How could your brother survive...?"

"The plants were young. They were not babies, but adolescents... so the cry's effects didn't kill him, although caused Quietus to stay in the Infirmary for nearly a week until he was completely healed. I became mad. Oh, God, I was so mad that I decided to revenge to the death on Black and Potter... But until Quietus's recovery, I stayed in the Infirmary with him, so I was there when..." Snape closed his eyes again. "Your grandfather, who - as I told you - wasn't yet a teacher, and Dumbledore went to visit him and to question him about that happened. First, my stupid brother didn't want to confess anything at all, and said he had been just curious and it all had been his fault. I became really angry with him, but when I wanted to open my mouth, Dumbledore sent me out. Then I..." Snape shifted uncomfortably. "I eavesdropped..." Harry blinked incredulously. He just couldn't imagine the picture of Snape eavesdropping in front of the Infirmary's door. His ear on the keyhole... He smiled, but Snape was so busy with his tale that he didn't notice it. "Dumbledore didn't believe him and the old Potter said that he knew the truth, because his son had told him. Dumbledore and the old Potter agreed that the two boys had to be expelled, because they had known the possible consequences of their deed. Quietus, however, disagreed and protested. There was a pretty ferocious quarrel between the three of them, but in the end Quietus won. He convinced the professors that the two stupid boys never intended to hurt anybody. It was just a prank - a dangerous one, but only a prank. He said that if it was needed he would deny the mere fact in front of anybody who asked. Dumbledore was so appalled that he couldn't speak for minutes. It was just too hard for him to believe, that a 'dark-originated' child defended his favourite light Gryffindors. I think this was the point of his change towards us, so-called 'dark children'. Since then, even I could notice the changes in his behaviour towards the Slytherins. He became much more kind and open. Naturally, I didn't confess this fact for months or years, until Anne made me admit it... But that is another story. So, finally, Black and Potter could remain Hogwarts' students. I didn't want to believe it. I was so mad at Quietus that I didn't talk to him for weeks. And then, he sneaked in my dormitory one night, woke me and begged me to forgive him." Snape's face twisted in pain. "HE begged ME to forgive... I was such a bloody idiot to him..."

"Why did he have to sneak in your dormitory? Wasn't he a Slytherin too?" asked Harry.

"No. He was a Ravenclaw."

"Oh..." Harry was surprised. "You've never mentioned this before."

"Haven't I?" Snape was amused. Harry shook his head in return.

"No. But it... it means that he and my mother were class-mates, weren't they?"

"Well, really... I've never thought about it before... But as you said, yes, they were in the same year too..."

"My dead mother knew your dead brother... so strange."

They just sat numbly. Harry could see Snape struggling to remember the old days.

"Hmm... now, that you mentioned it I seem to remember that they were kind of friends by the way..." Snape muttered uncertainly. "They both were prefects and spent endless hours in the library... Typical Ravenclaw behaviour, nothing unusual... It seems to me that several times I wanted to talk to Quietus and I went to the library and I found them studying together as you and Mr Weasley do with that Granger girl... In reality, there are a lot of similarities between Miss Granger and your mother...  Their passionate wish to know everything and their annoying I-know-everything-better-than-you-do behaviour."

"Hermione is not annoying," replied Harry sharply, then added "Well... sometimes perhaps a little bit but... she is a good friend and she TRULY knows almost everything, or at least the book you can find your answers in."

"That's a very important ability," agreed Snape. "But the way she lets everybody see that she knows the answers is still annoying."

There was a sudden change in the cell's lighting. One of the torches flickered angrily and its flame began to fade. After ten seconds it went out.

"I got old," Snape remarked amusingly.

Harry looked at him in slight surprise.

"What?"

"Seemingly, I got old. It was me, who brew the potion that we use here for the torches, the Lightening Potion, and it would have to endure for a year. I brew it only one month ago. But this torch is seemingly... put off."

"A year?" Harry was surprised. "What do you put into that potion to be able to endure for a whole year?"

"My, my, Mr Potter. If I understand well, you are asking me about your favourite subject..." Harry blushed and didn't say anything.

"Very well, I'll tell you. The ingredients are: phoenix feather, dragon teeth, powdered sulphur, powdered charcoal, raw heliantus oil and some well-pronounced spell during the potion-making."

"The sulphur and the charcoal are ingredients of a similar muggle-erg... spell too. They call it gunpowder, but they add saltpetre to the mix too."

Suddenly Snape became animated.

"And where do they use this potion?" he asked.

Harry snickered. Potion?

"It's not a potion, it's a kind of powder. They use it in wars. There are muggle weapons to kill, and the gunpowder is an important element of them. There are many types of it. Bombs for example... This... mixture explodes easily, it needs only a little spark and then... it's terrible. It has immense power when it explodes. You can ruin whole buildings with a handful of it."

"Oh... interesting... but I believe I've read something about it before... I read that it killed hundreds of people. I found this statement a little... exaggerated."

"Exaggerated??" Harry didn't want to believe Snape's words. "Professor, have you ever heard about muggle wars?"

It was Snape's turn to blush. It was a very interesting picture and Harry was positive there were only a few people in this world, who had ever seen the professor actually becoming red.

"Well, I've certainly heard about some of them, though..."

"Only in the second world war more than 40 millions of people died in 6 years!" Harry yelled angrily.

"What?" Snape's face told him that the professor wasn't going to believe Harry's statement.

"You heard it," Harry shrugged. "And the main weapon of both side was this gunpowder, although not in that simple form I described to you, but the essence was undoubtedly that..." he shrugged again then added. "May you go on with that Lightening Potion?"

"Where did you learn about this... muggle weapon?" Snape asked.

"In primary school. We learned Chemistry. It's something like potions, in a specific muggle way... without incantations and spells, of course."

"I see..."

Harry stood up and stretched his hand to reach the torch. When he finally managed to grasp it, he took it off from the wall and sat back next to the professor.

"Let's see..." he murmured.

After a short examination Snape's face lightened.

"Oh, I understand. See, here is a hole in the wood. The liquid must have been flowing out from the top..." Harry saw the professor relieving and threw the torch to the other corner. 

"I feel so strange..." the Potions Master spoke up suddenly.

Harry reached his hand and touched the professor's forehead again.

"Your fever... raised I think. Are you all right, sir?" he asked worriedly.

Snape felt as his heart warmed in return of the boy's words. He embraced Harry cautiously, trying not to hurt his throbbing hands.

"Harry?" he called the boy's name and when he lifted his gaze to him he smiled. "You can call me Severus. And I am almost all right, I think."

Harry became pretty embarrassed.

"Uh, sir...but..."

"No, Harry. I was serious when I said that you can live with me - if you want it too. But if we are going to live in the same house or quarters - you know, I spend my time mostly in Hogwarts - then you can't call me always 'professor' or 'sir.' That's quite uncomfortable for me. All right?"

"All right, sir," sighed Harry deeply. In that moment he caught Snape's gaze and corrected himself abruptly. "All right, Severus," he murmured and blushed. The professor smiled widely.

"I am, Harry, first of all a human being..."

Harry's blush became a brick-red embarrassment.

"I know, I know, but I need some time to get used to it."

"To the thought that I am a human being?" there was an unfamiliar twinkling in Snape's eyes.

"Don't tease me, please," Harry's embarrassment was now mixed with a bit of annoyance. "I thought: to get used to calling you by your first name."

"Oh, I see..." Snape leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes again.

"Si...uhm... are you sure you're all right?" Harry was extremely worried.

"Yes, Harry..."

"But the fever... If it will get higher..."

"I don't have a cold," Snape interrupted him "I have some broken bones and they causes inflammation. The inflammation causes fever. It's not the same you had some days ago. I'll feel better."

"Are you sure?"

"No. But I hope."

They sat in silence again. After a while Harry realised that the professor fell asleep. He decided to stay awake. He wasn't sleepy and he wanted to think and rethink the conversation again and again to feel that inexpressible happiness which filled him at Snape's words. He was accepted. He was cared for. Snape allowed him to use his first name. It meant that...

IT SURELY MEANT THAT...?

How ironic! He had to get caught and brought here to find the home he was always longing for in his life...

He remembered Snape's silent mumbling few days ago: 'Happy days in hell.' Did he think of the same? Harry wondered. That was something he would perhaps never know. But it didn't matter. Harry stared at the darkness for long hours, filled by emotions and a wish to jump, to dance, to shout aloud in order to show his happiness to everybody. These feeling tightened his chest, his heart so much, he could barely breath.

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"How long was I asleep?" was the first question Snape asked when he finally woke up.

"Several hours. I don't know exactly. For me, time here is something... fluid and endless," Harry explained. "Though is still annoying that they didn't come to fetch us for a new round..."

Snape stretched cautiously.

"I have a feeling that nothing good will happen in some hours."

The air seemed to freeze. Harry gulped.

"Do you mean that..." he didn't dare to finish the question. He could feel his body trembling in panic.

"Sssh..." Snape embraced him instantly. "Calm down, Harry." But he didn't know why the boy should calm down. Death was never an easy thing to face.

"I am not afraid of death," mumbled Harry. "I am afraid of the tortures. I don't want to be tortured any more. I don't want Avery to... And I don't want to see you tortured any more," his voice cracked. Snape's heart sank. Again, the familiar feeling of impotency clenched his chest. "It's just too hard to remain firm. I don't know if I can stand it," he could barely hear the boy's voice.

Snape just sat in silence. He desperately wanted to say reassuring words but there weren't any. Their situation was extremely helpless. He inhaled deeply.

"I haven't finished the tale about Sirius and me," he said finally, struggling to distract Harry. Harry seemed thankful as he began to talk. "So... Where was I?"

"Quietus begged you to forgive him, because he defended my father and Sirius from getting expelled."

"Ah, indeed..." he thought for a little while then went on. "After the accident of Quietus your father apologised to him. I wasn't there but my brother assured me about it. I don't know if he did it out of his father's expectation or of his free will, but he apologised nevertheless. But I've never heard about Black apologising. Never."

"Perhaps he just forgot..." Harry tried to find an explanation for Sirius' behaviour, but he could see on Snape's face that it wasn't at all satisfactory, even he himself was not convinced.

"Forgot... good job. He nearly killed somebody and he just... just forgot about it. Like he forgot to apologise to me after my accident. He was not forgetful then, he was totally amnesiac," Snape said angrily. "He pretended that nothing happened. And the main reason I loathe him: he always detested Quietus and called him names, which I would have deserved without question, but he didn't, not at all! I can't forget him for that. I won't forget. And I don't understand it as well. Why?"

"Perhaps he didn't want to face his own fallibility. He didn't want to believe that he was so cruel," Harry shook his head as he gave up, "I don't know. But, believe it, he is not so evil. He is just... too impetuous, he first acts and thinks only afterwards, so he does lots of things he regrets. I think if once you decide to give him a chance to talk about the past and you give him time, ENOUGH time to release his sudden and stupid emotions, he will apologise."

"You love him," it was not a question.

"Yes, I do," nodded Harry. "You know, he is just so fast to love as to hate. And he loves me, without further reservations, and he offered me a family without knowing me. Well, it's perhaps because he is a little narrow-minded and biased towards me because of my parents... But he never withdrew his offer for care."

"I see your points."

"As I see yours," Harry assured him. "I just wanted to explain my feelings to you. I can't understand Sirius, but I accept him as he is. Sometimes, he reminds me of Ron. They are so... similar."

Snape smiled slightly.

"I think you are right with this last remark. Perhaps this is the reason I can't support Mr Weasley..."

"Is there any student you can support?" asked Harry rather impertinently.

"Yes, of course," nodded Snape grinning. "There is you, for example."

"And...?" Harry became extremely curious. "Draco?"

"He is Lucius' son. And my godson too..." answered Snape silently.

"But," Harry gaped, "Lucius was who... who did THIS to your hand..."

For an instance, Harry could see clear sadness and desperation on Snape's face.

"I know. I've never believed it that he would hurt me before..." Harry wanted to say something, but he couldn't find any proper word to change topic. He was relieved when the professor finally went on. "But I don't think I will change my behaviour towards his son, if I can return to Hogwarts somehow nevertheless..."

"Why?"

"It was not him who hurt me."

"It was not Neville who hurt you," Harry's words were too sharp, he could sense it, but they were already out. Snape shuddered and turned his head to Harry.

"Perhaps you are right. But I think my behaviour will never lead young Mr Longbottom to become a loyal Death Eater. In the case of Draco and the other Death Eaters' children the situation is much more complicated. I try to keep them back from committing the same faults and sins I committed when I was the same age as them. I try to show them other ways to reach greatness instead of the Dark Magic and violence. I try to keep them on the light side, but it seems Dumbledore sometimes plays against me in this game..."

"What...?"

"In your first year, when your house won the House Cup, the way he humiliated my house was distasteful. We didn't talk after that show for the whole summer. It was so useless to humiliate those children. Not the fact but the way he did..."

"You are right," nodded Harry. "Although I didn't see that then."

"It wasn't on you to think. Albus was the Headmaster, not you. He should have thought about it before. It took a lot of time to calm those kids down afterwards, and I think many of them will never be able to trust the Headmaster again. But the instincts... They are just children. Not dark and evil wizards, just stupid kids."

Harry couldn't reply, so he was just sitting in perfect numbness when Snape suddenly continued his story.

"Your grandfather and Quietus were on good terms later." Harry blinked with surprise.

"How?"

"I think the old lad was deeply touched by Quietus' selflessness or by his other features, I don't know precisely. I told you that Quietus was a really good guy. Almost everybody loved him."

"Except for Sirius," muttered Harry uncomfortably. Snape didn't react.

"Potter offered Quietus to tutor him in Defence and he accepted this offer, because, as I said, we've never had a normal Defence teacher during our school years. Despite the age difference, they become some short of... friends, as Quietus said to me. I was really mad at him, but I couldn't do anything against it. I didn't want to tell our parents about it, they would surely have taken him away from Hogwarts, and I would have found myself alone in the school... The best thing I could do was to keep this relationship in secret from our parents and I begged Quietus several times to be more cautious, but he just didn't care. In my last three years, he spent the winter holidays at the Potters' while our parents believed him to be with his Ravenclaw friend. The name of this boy will be familiar for you, I suspect."

"Why?"

"One of his twin daughters is a classmate of yours."

"Patil?" Harry's eyes widened with total surprise.

"Precisely. Arcus Patil and Quietus were inseparable in a time. But Quietus always seemed to be older than his mates, so I think he was in better terms with the old Potter than anybody in his class. Your father utterly disliked this relationship and I think it was his frustration united with Black's hatred that deepened our quarrels into a war."

"A war? How do you mean?"

"Verbally. They claimed themselves light wizards and called all the Slytherin House the 'Dark House' so our personal antipathy became a sacred war of light against darkness. We were so frustrated about it that we decided to become real dark wizards to defeat them, Black especially. Lucius joined me, and after a while a third boy, called Rosier. All began like a general house rivalry... then I met Anne." Snape's expression suddenly became distant. "I didn't want to continue that meaningless war afterwards. I was afraid of losing her just because of an idiot rivalry. I often followed Black and his fellows everywhere and I strongly hoped I would have a good occasion to talk to him about his sister and me. Once I finally could, he lost his temper and we... started a fight. I broke his arm and he broke my nose," Snape touched the mentioned member. "And after that, there was no room for peace. We were fighting continually until he almost got me killed by Lupin. Then Anne threatened to kill him if he dared to do anything against me... so then we had two calm years afterwards. But until then I was totally dedicated to dark magic and I didn't want to return. I joined Voldemort and Anne left me. Some years later, Voldemort slaughtered the Black family, including Anne, and I hated myself so much... I could have saved her if I hadn't turned to the dark side. I could have married her and she would have been safe with me..." Snape shook his head. "But I did turn to the dark and Anne is dead. Black hates me and I hate him, and Quietus is dead too like Harold Potter and James Potter and Lily Potter and Rosier... Sometimes I feel that I am the only one who survived the massacre alone with my archenemies: Black, Lupin and Voldemort..."

None of them said a world. Then Harry cleared his throat.

"Prof... Severus," began. "I don't think Lupin hates you..."

"Don't?" Snape lifted an eyebrow. "After all I did to him one year ago? Perhaps he wanted to come to terms with me when we were together in the school, but after Black's escape I was so mad that I didn't think about the consequences of my words and I bailed him perfectly..."

"So it seems that Black is not the only one who doesn't care about the consequences in time."

"Do you dare to compare me with...?" asked Snape menacingly.

"Yes, I dare. You have many things in common. You both are impetuous, stubborn and sometimes narrow-minded too, then again you have a good heart under these features. It's just difficult to see. And you both spend a shedload of time in Azkaban..."

Snape's face darkened even more.

"Never mention it again, Potter."

"Sirius spent twelve years there," stated Harry calmly. "Can you imagine it?"

"I DON'T WANT to imagine it. No," shaking his head he continued the sentence. "It was the worst part of my life. And I have to tell you, Harry, I don't think ANYBODY deserves to be there. Death is better. Torture is better. Everything is better, believe me. Everything."

"... and Sirius was there for twelve years," repeated Harry quietly.

"I SEE, Mr Potter!" Snape's voice all of a sudden turned sharp.

"And he was innocent."

Snape laughed bitterly.

"Innocent..."

"You just said that nobody deserves to be there."

"Oh, again this stupid game to throw my words into my face! Who, do you think, you are to judge my behaviour, my feelings? Who gave this right to you? You are just a stupid, impertinent child who thinks to know the correct answer to everything, who thinks he is wiser than anybody else around him, who...!" Snape glared at Harry, who didn't dare to answer. The glare frightened him and he could feel a strong fear clenching in his heart. He lost Snape's friendship because of a totally pointless quarrel he could never win. He lowered his head and his heart sank.

"Sorry," he interrupted Snape. "Sorry, sir, I didn't intend to hurt your feelings..."

It was again too hard to say these words to Snape. He didn't dare to move as he was waiting for the continuation. It was just too familiar: Snape glaring, sneering and yelling and he waiting in silence for the detention, lost points or other uncomfortable consequences of his idiot deed. Yes, idiot. He had always been an idiot when he dared to argue with the annoyed Potions Master. And now, he had an extraordinary angry one.

There was a very long and completely uncomfortable silence between them. Snape didn't say a word and after ten minutes Harry decided to risk another topic.

"Sir, I..." he spoke up tentatively, but the creaking of the door interrupted him.

Voldemort stood in the frame.

"No," moaned Harry softly and he could see Snape's face whitening.

"I think that this is the proper time to deal about the possible date of your end," the monster smiled. "I thought tomorrow would be a perfect date, wouldn't it?"

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"...and they said that there is a large manor over the river," finished Lupin. "They could see masked figures around in the last two months or so."

Sirius shifted in impatience.

"Let's go now then!" he said and stood up.

"Sirius, I don't think this is a good idea..."

"What?" barked Black annoyed.

"To go there alone. To try to save them..."

"THEM??? I SURELY will leave that slimy..."

"Shut up, Sirius, or I will leave you here. We will save the two of them or nobody. But first we get Dumbledore."

"NO!" cried Black. "No," he added a little calmer. "We have to first see if this is the right manor. We have to snoop around a little bit before reporting to Dumbledore."

Lupin sighed.

"All right then, you're right. Let's go."

With a silent pop Black transformed into his usual animagus form. Lupin, naturally, remained human. Full moon was in three weeks yet and he couldn't transform himself freely, not as if he wanted it too much. Transformation without the Wolfsbane Potion wasn't a simple, painless thing. And if Snape didn't return, then he would count on numberless painful transformations.

The trip to the manor was long and uneventful, almost boring. Black went ahead leaving Lupin behind just as they crossed the river. Lupin didn't mind: with his werewolf senses he was able to precept his surroundings' voiceless messages and Black as a dog wouldn't raise too much suspicion in the inhabitants of the manor.

It was already late evening, but the sun was yet on the horizon and they had no real chance to find a way to get to know about the manor's inhabitants in light. They had to wait for the darkness to come. At least he was able to examine thoroughly the manor and its surroundings before any action.

It was situated in a large wood, consisted mostly by mountain pines, which meant that there was no underwood to hide in. So if they were forced to fly, they would be able to use only the trunks to seek refuge. Not too amazing! The manor itself was an immense building with two floors, built by some volcanic kind of stone and was totally black. This fact gave a little hope to Lupin, although he had a feeling that THIS manor wasn't the one they were looking for.

But how could they check whether it was the right place or not?

The answer was so simple that it hit Lupin. They had to get inside somehow and check the captives. Bloody hell! And if he, Lupin, had ended to this solution, then Black, Lupin was convinced about it, must have been already inside.

Lupin shuddered. Never. He would never go with Sirius to a mission again. Now, he perhaps had three persons to save instead of two...

"Remus!" he could hear his friend's sound. Lupin sighed in relief.

"I was certain you are already inside..." he whispered in return.

"Well, I was," Black smiled widely.

Lupin paled.

"You are totally mental, stupid dog," he glared at his friend. "It's all right that you go ahead, but this unnecessary trip to a Death Eater..."

"Hey, Remus, it was just OK!" Black insisted. "Why are you so angry with me?"

"You will surely kill me with your childish and idiot behaviour, Sirius!" he hissed in anger.

"Just shut up, Remus. I went inside because I could smell that there were only two persons in the manor..."

"Do you think that...?" Lupin interrupted him.

"No, no... I felt the smell of two old friends of us: Crabbe and Goyle personally at our disposition!"

"And I suppose they are alone."

"No. I could feel something else too," Black's face darkened as he said this.

"Death?" Lupin's voice cracked.

"Yes. Death and blood."

"Oh, my God..." Lupin whispered. "Do you think that…?"

"I don't know. I couldn't identify the persons... The smell of the bodies was too old, two or three days before, and I could only feel the blood. Nothing else." He lifted his eyes. "Remus, we should go in. I think they are here. We now have an excellent opportunity to save them. Just the two idiots are here..."

"No, Sirius," protested Lupin. "We have to call Dumbledore."

"Well, Remus, you can call Dumbledore if you want, but I will go in now. Bye..."

Lupin grabbed his friend's arm.

"Hey, what are you doing? You MUSTN'T do this alone! It's just too dangerous..."

"Crabbe and Goyle are NOT dangerous. Two stupid pigs. I can handle them, believe me."

Lupin shook his head.

"You are totally idiotic."

"So, will you come or plan to return to Dumbledore?"

The werewolf was thinking for a moment.

"I go," he muttered finally in a desperate voice. "But if we get home safely, I swear I will hex you into million pieces!"

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The manor was just too immense and intimidating to feel safe inside, although even Lupin could sense that there were only two other living persons in the building. The only hard thing was to find them, but after that everything went quickly and without problems.

Lupin stunned and Obliviated the two monsters and Black took the magic keys from them.

Then they headed to the dungeons.

"Sirius, I am not sure I am prepared to do this..." Lupin whispered in an unusually tiny voice. The imagined picture of a dead Harry was just unbearable.

He felt pity for Snape too. Well, he wasn't a fan of him, not at all. The man was a total git: malicious, acidic, satiric, often mean and all in all insufferable.

But then again, he brew the damned Wolfsbane in every month and posted it to him (even if it was possible that this fact was just a sign of his guilt for making Lupin lose his job), saved Harry's life in his first year, and tried to do it in his third - against them. And now, he was possibly dying with the son of his sworn enemy, James Potter, who once nearly killed his brother with a stupid prank...

No. Severus's life wasn't without complications.

Voldemort killed his brother.

Albus had said he had changed sides afterwards. Or because of it? This second seemed the truer answer. The greasy-haired sneering git had really loved his brother. He could see them sitting together in the school's grounds arguing or just talking to each other, seemingly appreciating the other's company, and the rare occasions he had seen Severus smiling happened in these times.

A soft voice snapped him out of his short trance. Black unlocked the magical door of the prison.

"You'll stay here," Black turned his head to Lupin. "Cover me. I will look around there."

Lupin just nodded and lifted his wand cautiously as his friend disappeared. He looked over the room where the two monsters lay on the floor. Its destination was clear for him: he was standing in a torture chamber.

No, there were no torturing utilities on the walls, and there were no chains pending from the ceiling: for a general visitor this room was nothing else than a chamber with some chairs and a large table.

But on the floor... on the walls... on the table... on the chairs... everywhere there were the signs of violence. Blood and sweat and pain and fear - he often hated himself for being a werewolf, but now, he so desperately wanted to be everything but a werewolf that he almost went mad. Damned senses! He shuddered again and again and after a while it was a demanding urge to vomit...

"Remus, come, please!"

Fighting his urge to retch, he ran down after Black's calling. He found himself in a long and extremely dark corridor.

"Where are you, Si...?"

"Here," a voice whispered suddenly behind his back.

The next moment a wand was pointed to Black's neck.

"Oh, Sirius, you are such a damned idiot. I nearly killed you," Lupin shook his head and lowered his wand. He could see his friend face turning extremely white.

"Hey, Remus, you are really fast," gulped Black.

"Did you think I was accepted as a Defence teacher by Dumbledore just because I am a werewolf?"

"Er... no" Black blushed slightly. "But... here is something you have to see... I didn't dare to..."

He motioned Lupin to a nearby door.

As he looked inside he thought his heart would stop beating.

On the floor, two people were lying, seemingly dead.

"We're too late, Remus," croaked Black's voice in the dark.

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	11. Face to face to what?

Betaed by Lliey Gemini

Revised: 07-01-04 

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**Chapter 11 - Face to face to... what?**

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"It's impossible, Sirius. You are just a bloody idiot, halfwit, dunderhead, imbecile..." Lupin's eyes were glittering madly as he spoke.

"What...?" Black sounded surprised. "What's the problem, Remus?"

Lupin was so annoyed that he needed to take some deep breaths if he wanted to say a word.

"These are two adults, a man and a woman, can't you see it? Or do you need glasses? I will bring you to an oculist, I swear, just after we get out of here," and although his voice sounded irritated, he knelt very gently next to the bruised and torn bodies and touched them softly.

"They are dead nevertheless," he sighed, sadness sounding in his tone. As he stood up he heard a sudden, choked voice from a dark corner.

"Lumos!" he whispered quietly as he approached the place. Black followed him with his wand's movements. But the next moment, a shocking, sharp cry stopped him.

"Nooooooo!" Then again: "Noo, please, no, don't beat me, please, don't hurt me, Mum, mum help me! Please..."

In the corner, there sat a little girl. She lifted her hand over her head to protect herself from the suspected punches to come.

"Shhhh..." said Lupin very softly and calmingly. "I am here to save you, I am not going to hurt you, stay calm, everything will be all right." He repeated these sentences until the girl lowered her arms and opened her tightly shut eyes she had closed previously in dread.

"Who are you?" she asked in a trembling voice. It was obvious that she was still under shock: her pupils were dilated, her skin sallow. Lupin suddenly thought of Harry. Was he in a desperate state like her too?

"I am Remus and I have no time to tell you anything more, at least not now," he answered finally and lifted the six or seven-year-old girl into his arms. "We have to get out from here as soon as possible. Sirius, we should go!" he looked at his friend who just stood in the door seemingly petrified.

"But..." he opened his mouth to protest, but Lupin was faster.

"Harry isn't here. Neither is Severus. But in any moment, we can meet a large group of coming Death Eaters and THAT will be a disaster."

"The other cells..."

"They all are empty. If you used your nose instead of your non-existing brain you'd know it by now. There isn't anybody else. Just us three and those two stupid monsters upstairs."

"Mum and Dad are here too..." the little girl whispered desperately when Lupin wanted to leave the cell. "Why don't they come with us?"

Lupin's heart felt as if a big hand grabbed it painfully, and he could feel a lump blocking his throat. How could he explain to the child the fact that her parents were dead? He struggled to find some appropriate words while running frantically up to the torture chamber and the entrance, but he didn't find any.

"I understand," the child sighed finally. "They're dead, aren't they?"

Lupin nodded. When they left the horrible chambers and neared the main entrance, the werewolf felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Remus, wait a minute. I'll look around before..."

"Right. I'll wait for you here," Lupin answered and moved in a shady place of the hallway they were standing in. For a long moment, he just stood sharpening his senses and checked his surroundings for anything suspicious, but soon, he was relieved he didn't find any. He lowered the girl to the floor and cautiously looked under her clothes. What he saw terrified him. She was just a little six-years-old, why had they injured her so badly? But aloud, he just asked, "What's your name, child?" and whispered some quick spell to fix the heaviest problems.

"Anne," the girl whispered back. "What are you doing with me now?" she added curiously.

"I am healing some of your bruises, Anne," Lupin lifted his gaze to her. "We have a long way to go today and I don't want you to pass out. Is it better now?"

"Yes," the child gulped. "But... how do you do this? With that... stick?"

"Oh, you're a muggle!" Lupin noticed surprised.

"What, sir, I didn't understand..."

"I am a wizard but you are not. Those who are not wizards we call muggles."

"Those big men were wizards too, weren't they?" Anne asked. "They hurt me and Mum with... their sticks and shouted words and we felt pain..."

The girl's eyes were wide and dry, Lupin couldn't see tears or feelings there. Shock - he thought again sadly.

"Yes, they were wizards. But there exist two kinds of wizards: the good ones and the bad ones. They were the bad ones, and Sirius and me are the good ones..."

"You came to save us? How did you know we were here?"

Wise child. Lupin didn't answer. He heard his friend's footsteps coming and moaned as he lifted the kid.

"I will fix you to me, Anne," he said when he was already straightened. "Wrap your arms around my neck, right?"

The girl just nodded and buried her head in Lupin's shoulder. The werewolf fixed the little body with some bonding spells to his chest.

"We're ready," he told Black.

"Right. There isn't anybody outside. Let's go!"

They run as much as they could to the dark forest knowing that in any moment, they could meet some unwelcome guest. Lupin was gasping for breath by the time they reached the first trees. He made some steps deeper inside the forest, but stopped.

"Hey, Remus, it is not yet safe to stop here. We have to go further."

"I... know... just a moment..." he was catching for air.

A loud 'crack' sounded suddenly and they jumped in fright. In three steps from them, a Death Eater apparated. Luckily, he was so deep in thought that he didn't even hear the three gasping people behind him. As soon as he headed to the dark manor, the two friends didn't wait anymore, they went on running in a reckless hurry from the dangerous area.

Deep inside the forest, after thirty minutes of running, Black finally stopped.

"Here, I think, we can disapparate without emerging suspicion..."

The next moment they were nowhere to be seen.

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"Why tomorrow?" was the question which suddenly occurred to Harry. The next instant he realised he asked it aloud.

"Oh, Mr Potter, what a stupid question... My, my, you don't remember your OWN birthday? So strange... I imagined a birthday being an important date in every child's life..."

Harry gulped. His birthday? It meant that they had already been in captivity for two weeks. Voldemort left immediately after he had made his announcement, and Harry wondered about his birthdays for a while. He had always been waiting for these days... The gifts, the letters, and the sweets he had received from his friends in the last four years. Oh, they had been such beautiful occasions... And now, he would... no, oh God he would... It couldn't be true. Just couldn't be true. No. One day left... only one day to live, to think, to love, to BE. The mere though terrified him and suddenly, he felt in his head a swirling inferno with the terrible and scaring thoughts. He would die. He would die. He would die. No. Just... no. Why? No, he didn't want to die, he wasn't ready, he desperately wanted to live... and not only one day. But... no more left. Just one day. No more and nothing more.

As Snape sensed the boy's emerging panic, his urge to comfort him overcame his own fears for which he was extremely grateful. Struggling against the physical pain, he clenched his teeth and put his hand on Harry's shoulder just after the bastard had left. The boy's breathing was too fast, all of his body shook, and his eyes were empty and unfocused. Panic attack, Snape recognised immediately. It meant that there was no chance to argue, to reason with the kid. Arguments couldn't penetrate into a panicked mind. Only simple words and strong emotions could help him out of the present state.

"Harry, come nearer," his voice was weak and hoarse. Harry, however, didn't react. "Harry!" he said louder, but without any result. Snape released an annoyed sigh. Despite the exceeding pain of his hands, he wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulder and motioned the numb-shocked kid to himself and hugged him tightly. Harry's eyes were like a trapped animal's: his pupils were dilated and fixed to nowhere, all his muscles were tensed and ready to run, to fight... Snape was familiar with this feeling: the trapped thoughts circling in an endless ring, around the same words and feelings, the pressing sensation in the throat, the total incapacity to breathe normally, the complete lack of self-control, the desperate desire to shriek...

Yes, just extremely intense physical or emotional effects could snap out a panicked person of his daze. Struggling with his own tears, he tightened his embrace even more and began to hum smoothing words as a lullaby.

"All right, Harry, calm down, I am here, child..." he whispered and surprising himself he thought that he had never used the word 'child' in a similar context before. For a moment, he couldn't say another word, but feeling Harry's desperate struggling, he pulled himself together, out of his self-produced daze and went on. The boy was first fighting against the holding arms, he tried to kick away his captor, to get free, but Snape was stronger, and even though he was weak and powerless because of the malnutrition and the physical abuse, he grasped the boy firmly and pressed him to his chest.

After long minutes, the boy's struggling became quieter and quieter, and he didn't want to get free so intensely any more. His breath slowed down, and in the end, his body went almost limp, and he just stared into the darkness, speechless. Even later, his eyes moistened with tears, he turned to Snape, wrapped his arms around his chest, lowered his head to his shoulder and began to sob quietly.

Snape sighed. Just in time. His torn hands were throbbing and aching so strongly that he wouldn't have been able to struggle with the boy any longer.

"I don't want to die..." Harry muttered and he tightened his embrace so much that Snape could barely breathe. "Not tomorrow... I want more time..."

There was no answer to these words. After a while, Snape realised that he was rocking the sobbing kid. Good answer... did it mean: '_Calm down and accept you fate?_' Or rather: '_Don't worry I am with you?_' How did Harry feel, Snape wondered.

"It was just too short..." Harry mumbled in a daze. "Fifteen years..."

'_The length of our days is seventy years - or eighty, if we have the strength; yet their span is but trouble and sorrow for they quickly pass and we fly away._' Snape didn't know where he had heard this sentence, it had to be a long time ago, but he felt it to be fit for their situation perfectly. For and instance, he wanted to tell the boy that even 37 years were not so much, that even he was considered too young to die, but finally, he managed to keep his mouth shut. 37 was considerably more than fifteen, not to mention the fact that such a remark wouldn't console the selfless boy, it would rather increase his pain. Snape remembered very well Harry's self-disgust and self-accusation, and he didn't intend to deal with them too.

So there was only one day remaining to get prepared to die. They had no chance to escape, they were too weak and torn, they had no wand and they were alone: two against hundreds. What was he supposed to do in these conditions? Oh, this familiar question again...

"Er... Harry," he cleaned his throat and waited until Harry lifted his gaze and their eyes locked. "I want to apologise," he said simply. "I shouldn't have yelled at you..."

Perhaps it wasn't the best beginning, but it was the best he could say in that moment.

"No need, sir," Harry answered softly.

"Severus," said Snape. Harry's gaze puzzled for a moment, then he nodded.

"No need, Severus," he could see pain in the boy's eyes. "I shouldn't have to annoy you... I should have known that this subject would make you angry. And you have every right to be angry, sir."

"Harry, he is perhaps not the person I love most in the world, but you love him and you have the right to defend him. On the other hand, nobody, really, nobody deserves to rot in Azkaban, neither does Black, whatever he did."

Harry released the professor and leaned back against the wall.

"I think I would die there in one day," he shuddered.

"I heard that the dementors have a very powerful effect on you," it was a question rather than a remark.

"Yeah," Harry's gaze became again unfocused and Snape mentally cursed himself for sending Harry back to his panicked state, but Harry continued. "When they come near I can hear my parents dying and Voldemort..." his voice chocked.

"Nobody had ever told me..."

"I didn't want anybody to know. Dumbledore knows of course, I told him. And I told professor Lupin for he offered to help me to find a solution against them."

"The Patronus Charm," nodded Snape. "I could see your Patronus on the Quidditch pitch when Draco..." he suddenly stopped. "And I... I..." it just sounded too stupid to babble so he went on "And I think I saw the same Patronus on the bank of the lake one year ago when the dementors wanted to perform the kiss on you and Black..."

"It was my patronus, sir..." smiled Harry interrupting him.

"But... how? I saw you lying on the ground and one of the dementors was about to perform the kiss on you." Snape shuddered as the memories attacked him. The sight of the dementors around the three: the two children and Black... And he, the sworn protector of Harry had been so impotent... yes, he had been impotent at that time too...

"You SAW that...?" Harry's voice was weak. "But then... why didn't you help us?" The boy's expression darkened. "Did you hate me so much? Or did you hate Sirius so much?" He shook his head. "I don't want to believe it... No, please, say that it's not true!"

The Potions Master lowered his head and a painful expression appeared on his face.

"No. I _did _hate you both, but... I swore to your mother and... there was another reason," he sighed and looked at Harry. "Harry, you know... if you spend more than a day in Azkaban, you'll never be able to conjure a patronus. I tried then... I was totally frightened... and," the expression on his face changed to an ashamed one. "I hadn't ANY joyful memories to conjure that damned patronus. Any at all... I was frozen and I saw Quietus standing in the circle suffering and then dying... I couldn't even go nearer... I tried..."

"Oh, I... I'm sorry... I just... didn't know..." stuttered Harry. "So THAT was the reason Sirius couldn't escape or fight against them..."

"Yes," Snape answered. "But you said it was your patronus which drove the dementors away." Seeing Snape's puzzled gaze, Harry told him the whole story of the time-turner.

"… You were extremely mad in the Infirmary... and it was just... amusing to know that you were right... And I was really surprised that you didn't want us to get expelled."

"Er... I... uhm... tried to get you expelled after that fateful evening just... Albus calmed me down," Snape seemed a little embarrassed.

"How did he calm you down?" Harry knew exactly from Snape's behaviour that it should have been something really uncomfortable, but his curiosity didn't let him abandon the topic.

"If you really insist to know, I'll tell you," Snape became even more embarrassed. "He said that I could decide what I wanted. Having you expelled - but in that case I should have moved to Privet Drive instead of having Mrs Figg protect you..."

"...with the cats?" Harry couldn't help, but chuckle. He almost forgot Voldemort's announcement as he imagined Snape in Mrs Figg's house amongst the cats making tea and servicing cookies, wearing muggle clothes, of course... It wasn't a miracle Snape didn't choose this possibility.

The professor, however, decided to ignore Harry's remark.

"...or you wouldn't be expelled and I could remain in Hogwarts. Though he stressed that I have no choice - not that it had been a real one. He didn't want me outside of the school..."

"Why?" Harry was really curious.

"Because he thinks that I am the only appropriate person in the staff to be the Head of the Slytherin House. And I have to agree with him. I am not a Death Eater or a secret supporter of Voldemort, but still I am a real Slytherin, so the parents trust me... No, it's not clear this way, I try again," he closed his eyes in thought. "One part of the parents trust me because of Dumbledore, the other part trust me because of Voldemort. Does it make sense?"

"I think so. The Death Eaters' children and their parents think you are Voldemort's follower so they trust you. The other part trusts in Dumbledore's wisdom to choose the teachers well... Although he made several mistakes... Quirrell or Lockhart... The fake-Moody... And..." for an instance he stopped. "And you too said that you still were a loyal Death Eater when you began to teach in the school..."

Snape nodded.

"You're right. Albus is just a human, like all of us, and though he is wiser and stronger than the lot of us, even he makes mistakes. But... my case was not a mistake. He knew precisely who I was when he let me teach in Hogwarts."

"But... how?"

"I asked the same for myself several times. Now I think I know it. But it's a long story, Harry, and I don't know where to begin it..." Snape's eyes became distant and fixed to the opposite, dark corner of the cell. "It began perhaps with Quietus' idea who desperately wanted me to get free from Voldemort's grasp before I committed too many sins to be forgiven. He... He didn't know that that time I was not already innocent... not at all..." for the first time in their common captivity, Harry could see the deep exasperation on the man's face and he shuddered in sympathy. Sometimes he also did things he regretted, and he wanted to turn time back to change the past, to erase every little consequence of his deed... Or once, he had dreamt that he had killed Ron. It had been an accident in that dream, but he had killed him nonetheless pushing him out of the window of their dormitory. In his dream he had been very angry with his friend: he had dreamt this when Ron had abandoned him in the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament. He remembered he had woken up with a start, and for long minutes, he had been sure the dream had been true. Those moments - the moments of pure exasperation, the immense wish to turn time back... He shuddered again. And now, Snape was sitting here being aware of his own past, mistakes, sins which had surely been hunting him for a long time, and even now, just some hours before their execution.

Apparently, even Snape was lost in his thoughts, because he didn't say anything, just stared at the darkness with dulled eyes. Harry cleared his throat and the professor snapped out of his trance.

"Yes?"

"The story, Severus," it was still so strange for Harry to call him by his first name, but he forced himself to do that. "You began to tell me the story about..."

"Oh, I remember," the Potions Master smiled slightly, but still, he was obviously under the effect of his previous thoughts. "Quietus... He thought if I worked in Hogwarts Voldemort would use me as a spy and I wouldn't be forced to take part in the usual Death Eater works... so he convinced Dumbledore to employ me. Quietus told him if I worked in the school Voldemort would use ME as his spy. Albus knew that Voldemort would find his way to have a loyal servant in his organisation, and he thought that if I were that person he would know at least precisely who the mole was in the staff. At that time I didn't know, of course, that Dumbledore was aware of me being a Death Eater. It was the first thing Quietus told him.

"I CANNOT UNDERSTAND!" Harry interrupted him. "How could Dumbledore trust you to teach children?"

To his surprise, Snape smiled.

"Oh, it's very simple, Mr Potter. As I said, he knew that I was a spy. A spy had to be extra careful if he wanted to maintain his façade. That means that I couldn't even touch those kids if I didn't want to emerge suspicions about my loyalty. And Dumbledore even felt that I tried to obtain his confidence more than anybody else being an ex-Slytherin with a dubious attraction to Dark Magic. So he was absolutely sure I wouldn't do anything to uncover myself. And he was right. I enjoyed that year... I enjoyed it as much as if I had been really free. It was a little, peaceful island in the war's turmoil until..." he clenched his fists, but it caused him to cry out loud from the sudden, sharp pain. He had to take some deep breaths before he could go on. "Until Quietus died."

"Then you became a double agent, didn't you?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Yes. And I convinced Voldemort I was a trusted man of Dumbledore so that I participated in as many actions as I could with my job. In the meantime I transmitted Dumbledore's fabricated news to Voldemort which were partly true..."

"But why did you decide to participate in those actions?"

"First: to be a good spy I should spend more time with Voldemort and become a trusted servant of his. Second: I couldn't transmit everything I knew to Dumbledore if I didn't want to be exposed by Voldemort. Instead, I went to raids with the other Death Eaters and tried to save at least a part of their victims. I tried to alert people and families personally too, avoiding Dumbledore and his organisation – so even if Voldemort knew that there was a mole in his circle, he couldn't connect it with Dumbledore straight, and I remained almost flawless. At that time, I developed some useful potions as well, like the Draught of the Living Death and many kinds of Nerve-Numbing and Painkilling Potions. I almost always succeeded not to kill afterwards, but I was forced to use the Cruciatus many times and I hated myself for it. In that time I became one of the most entrusted servant of Voldemort. I was considered ruthless and merciless, but crazy because I tried not to kill anybody. Voldemort thought it was because of Quietus's death and was very angry with my father, whose idea was that I had to watch how my brother was killed. Yes, Potter, it was my father's idea, not Voldemort's... So he entrusted me..."

"Then why... not why. HOW did Voldemort trust you again when you returned to him after fifteen years? Wasn't he aware of the fact Dumbledore vouched for you as a spy of the Light Side?"

"Harry, as you said, I was a double agent and both of them know that. Both Dumbledore and Voldemort. The question was just about my loyalties. I was always sincere with Dumbledore and I gave him all the true and fake information I had to."

"Fake...?"

"Yes, it was not only Dumbledore who created fake information to lead his opponent astray. Voldemort did it too. The difference was that I never told Voldemort the true information, just the fake ones, but I told Albus both and I let him act as he considered wise. And, as I said, I had my own ways to help the Light Side."

"I understand," Harry nodded slowly. "But... It had to be very, very hard. You always had to ponder and decide between a lot of thing simultaneously. You always had to be alert and attentive of your words and deeds."

"It was not easy, not at all..."

"Then there is only one thing I cannot understand."

"Only one? Potter, you seem much more intelligent than I gave you credit for," Snape smirked ironically.

Harry blushed and shrugged, but went on.

"Why did Voldemort suspect that your were the leak?"

"There could be two reasons for it. Once, a double agent is never fully trustworthy. Sencond: perhaps you remember your first year events and my role in them."

"Yeah," Harry's brows furrowed. "You saved my life and you threatened Quirrell to..."

"Threatened? How do you know about it?"

"In the Forbidden Forest... I... I followed you when you..."

"It's impossible," Snape shook his head amused. "I suspected you doing many things you weren't allowed to, but it seems I seriously underestimated your snooping and rule-breaking skills. So you were there too... Were there any other... occasion when you..."

Harry nodded sheepishly.

"Er... yes. It happened in the same year that I was looking for a book in the library's restricted section..."

"In the night I suppose..."

"Of course. And the book shrieked..." Harry snickered. "And you came with Filch and I fled from you and it was then that I found the mirror of Erised too. Indeed, after that I spent a couple of nights sitting in front of the mirror, until Dumbledore found me, and asked me not to spend any more time looking into it..."

"Was it then that he explained to you how the mirror worked?"

"Yes, it was. It was also very useful when I had to face Quirrell..."

"You didn't have to, Potter. You should have called an adult to..."

"I tried. We told McGonagall that... somebody wanted to steal the stone, but she became extremely annoyed and chased us away," Harry shifted uncomfortably. "In reality, we suspected you to be after the stone... I was convinced about it until I found Quirrell standing in front of the mirror... Nevermind," he shrugged finally. "It was not so terrible than in the second year in the Chamber of Secrets."

"Why?" Snape asked curiously.

"Because in my first year my deeds didn't risk anyone's life. But in the chamber, there was Ginny too..."

"Oh, the other case you just acted without any adult's help!"

"No, I... I asked an adult to help!" Harry cried indignantly.

"Who?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Er..." Harry blushed. "We went to professor Lockhart..."

"I asked, Mr Potter, why didn't you ask for an ADULT's help?" Snape asked in mock anger. "Since when was that idiot git considered as an adult?"

Harry smiled widely chuckled and nudged Snape.

"Do you remember the Duelling Club?"

"Of course," answered Snape. "Why?"

"It was just simply... beautiful as you disarmed him! It was so cool! Even Ron found it extremely funny..."

"But after that I tried to scare you with that idiot Serpensortia..." the guilt was written on Snape's face. "I was such a fool..."

"That's okay, si... Severus. Ginny would have died if I hadn't known I can speak parseltongue..."

"Oh those things that 'would have happened if'!" said Snape sarcastically. "You can NEVER know what would have happened. Never. Perhaps..."

"No, sir. There are some things we can know... Especially if you were warned before. It was my bloody fault that Voldemort finally regained his power and..."

"Harry!" Snape yelled angrily and looked at him down his nose. "If you think again to the events of the Triwizard Tournament, then..." he began one of his usual anti-guilt tirades, but Harry interrupted him.

"No. I'm thinking of the Shrieking Sack's events just after we stunned you." Harry could see on the professor's face that even mentioning that event was quite uncomfortable for him, so he quickly went on. "Then and there I had the chance to get Peter Pettigrew killed. Sirius and professor Lupin wanted to kill him in revenge of my parents' death but I insisted to let him live... so he was able to escape and became the one who helped Voldemort to..."

Harry closed his eyes and felt as all his strength had abandoned him. If he could turn back time... Snape wrapped his arm around his shoulder and shook him reassuringly.

"Harry," he said in a soft, calming voice. "We've already discussed these topics and about the role of intention in them..."

Harry lowered his head, muttering, "But if you are warned what is going to happen, your responsibility is much more great, isn't it?"

"You - warned? That's ridiculous, Potter," Snape fast became angry, but Harry didn't let himself be interrupted this time.

"Yes, I was warned, though I didn't know it was a warning, but there, in the Shrieking Sack I should have understood, but no, I didn't think I just acted as you always say of me, and that damned git escaped..."

"Who warned you?" Snape didn't seem to abandon this question.

"Trelawney," Harry blushed and when he saw the Potions Master's face turning purple with irritation, he briskly added, "and Dumbledore agreed with me afterwards when I told him her prediction."

"When did she... predict this?" the disgust was clearly visible on the professor's face. It was the same expression as professor McGonagall's whenever she mentioned the Divination professor.

"In my Divination exam, on the same day. When I went to do the exam, we were alone in her classroom. She suddenly turned into a trance and began to speak in a completely strange voice and he said that the Dark Lord's servant would break free and with his help Voldemort would be greater and more terrible than ever." Harry shuddered. "It was really... scary."

"Strange..." Harry could see that the professor was thinking about some past events again. He was sure: in these occasions Snape's expression was distant and closed - always in the same manner.

"So I told Dumbledore about it, and he said that it was her second real prediction, and, perhaps, he had to offer her a pay raise..."

The professor snapped out of his trance so fast that it was almost audible.

"Second? Did you say second?" he cried out.

"What...?" Harry didn't understand Snape's question.

"What did you say Dumbledore told you?"

"He said that this prediction brought her total of real predictions up to two," Harry lifted his eyes to Snape and studied the familiar face. He could see various emotions on it: shock, surprise, incredulity and finally anger. But what an anger...

Harry saw his professor annoyed and angry countless times - in reality he always seemed irritated in some way - and by now, he considered himself an expert of the man's cantankerous feelings, but this time the anger he saw was so intensive that Harry was sure, he had never seen an anger like that before. The man's face became as dark as the Dark Lord's (or Dumbledore's when he disarmed Barty Crouch saving Harry from his grasp) and the coal-black eyes turned ice-cold and sharp - as sharp as Avery's razor - and Harry shuddered by this thought.

"So he knew it all the time..." Snape hissed with immense wrath. "He knew it. And he NEVER told me. NEVER."

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"One... two... three... now!" Fletcher whispered and they shouted simultaneously, 

"_Stupefy!_"

Nott flew across the room and hit the bookshelf on the opposite wall, then fell on the floor.

"Good..." Figg muttered under her breath. "Mun, a Watching Charm! Quick!"

Fletcher nodded and waved his wand muttering a spell. In the meantime Figg rolled up Nott's left sleeve to check their suspect... They had been following the man for two days, but his behaviour seemed flawless: the perfect colleague, father, husband – even better a role than Malfoy's. It was so good that it made Fletcher unsure about his real loyalties, but now – yes. Albus' information was right. On Nott's left forearm they could see the skull and the serpent, a copy of the Dark Mark, the trademark of Voldemort.

"How disgusting..." Fletcher frowned. "I get sick. We are lucky, Ari, that Albus never wanted to use tattoos to mark us. I'd never work for him..." he mumbled and turned the unconscious man over.

"The serum, Ari..." he reached his hand without looking up. Figg put the tiny bottle into his palm. The clear liquid sparkled as it waved. "Who brew it?"

"Snape..." Figg spat the name.

"Oh, no... why didn't you check the name before we'd departed? I don't trust the git!" he murmured angrily.

"Albus gave it in my hand. What should have I done then? Throw into his face? He trusts Snape, you know that."

"Well, I don't..." Fletcher sneered. "But now, we don't have other possibility than to use THIS," he uncorked the bottle with a quick movement and poured its content into Nott's mouth. 

"_Ennervate_," Figg sighed.

The Death Eater opened his eyes. Fletcher nodded to Figg. It was her work to question the man.

"What's your name?" was the usual first question.

"Angrius Nott."

"Are you a Death Eater?" It was obvious, but Figg wanted to check the potion.

"Yes."

It seemingly worked well.

"Do you know something about Harry Potter's whereabouts?"

"Yes, I do," the answer was soft, but clear. "He is in Nightmare Manor."

"Where is that manor?"

"We don't know the precise place of it. Just the Lord does."

"It seems that Albus was right..." muttered Fletcher and Figg nodded.

"If you don't know the place how can you get there?"

"I can only get there when my Lord summons us, and we apparate if we feel his calling."

"Not good..." Fletcher's face darkened. "I don't want to apparate right in front of Vol... him."

Figg ignored his muttering and went on.

"How often does he summon you?"

"Twice a week, generally."

"At the same time?"

"No."

 Figg sighed.

"When were you summoned last time?"

"Two days ago."

"What did you do then?"

"We tortured the traitor."

Oops. It was an unexpected answer.

"Who is that traitor?"

"Snape," the disgust was adamant in Nott's voice. "He betrayed the Lord."

"How?"

"He wanted to kill him to save Potter."

Fletcher blinked stunned. Perhaps the potion was wrong...?

"Is Potter still alive?" Figg tried to concentrate on the questioning. For a moment, Harry's face appeared in her mind... No. She had other thing to do now.

"Yes, but the Lord already appointed the date of their execution."

"Really?" No. It was a stupid question. "When?" was the right one.

"Tomorrow evening."

"We have no time left, Ari," Fletcher whispered in terror.

"Silence, Mun," Figg sneered and turned to the Death Eater again.

"Why did he choose this date?"

"It's Potter's birthday and he wants to perform a spell related to this day in order to get Potter's power."

"Ari, this would be the First-Born's Spell..." Fletcher's eyes went wide, and his face became pale grey. "This is one of the most powerful killing spells, oh, God..."

"SILENCE, MUN!" Figg cried impatiently and went on. "Will you be there, Nott?"

"Yes, the whole inner circle will be there. It will be a great celebration of our first victory in the nearing war!"

Figg lowered his wand and Nott fell on the floor again, unconscious.

"Mun, we have to bring him to Albus. Abruptly."

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	12. A puzzle solved

Betaed by Lliey Gemini

Revised: 09-01-04 

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**Chapter 12 - A puzzle solved**

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"Severus, Severus, what's the problem?" Harry risked a question after the Potions Master's wrath somehow lessened. "Is there something... wrong?"

There was no answer. As the anger dissipated, it was replaced by a deep stupor. Snape was just staring into the darkness, sometimes he shook his head, but he didn't seem to notice Harry's words or his mere presence.

Something was wrong, VERY wrong, and Harry began to get desperate. He grasped the professor's shoulder and shook it forcefully, but nothing happened.

"Professor! Severus!" he tried to call him aloud. Nothing. The desperation grew into a slight panic. Harry stood up, stepped face-to-face to the numbed man, and knelt down. Now, the man's eyes appeared to be fixed on Harry, but the boy could sense the total lack of attention in them. It was so horrible... and he could hear Snape muttering under his breath. although he didn't understand the words.

Harry put his hands to the professor shoulders and leaned closer to him.

"Professor, please, please, tell me something... Can I help you somehow?"

After long minutes, Snape became more and more focused, but the only sign was that he shook Harry's hands off from his shoulders, and buried his face into his palms, his trembling hands. The next moment, Harry noticed that not only the hands, but the whole man was trembling. It scared him more than the previous daze. It was something shocking. The always so guarded and hard man seemed broken, like an emotional wreck, like Harry many times during their common days. Harry didn't know what he could do.  He sighed and sat back on his heels, waiting for Snape to regain his composure or to utter at least a word. From time to time, he considered to urge the professor, to warn him that there was no time for such a show... The date of their execution grew nearer and nearer as the minutes and hours flew away. But he didn't dare to do that. No, he was no more afraid of him. The feeling, which withheld his hands almost shaking with impatience, was respect.

Yes, they were dying. They. Not just he, Harry alone. And if Snape needed time to understand, to digest the given information - even though Harry couldn't fathom why they were so important - then he would give him the time, the opportunity.

It took several minutes, perhaps more than an hour, by when Snape finally lowered his hands and lifted his gaze to Harry.

"Harry..." he began, but didn't continue. His voice choked. Then again: "Harry."

"Yes, sir?" Harry focused on him intensely, showing that he was paying attention.

"I don't know how can I tell you all this, or whether I could tell you it at all." It was a very odd sentence, Harry thought to himself.

"Sir, if you don't want, you don't need to," he hastily added and gulped nervously.

"First: not sir. Severus. Severus, because..." his voice cracked. "And I must tell you. It's just... too hard."

Harry got frightened. Snape was going to confess him his sins and mistakes before dying? Or something related to Trelawney's prediction? It made sense with the professor's strange behaviour... but Harry didn't feel himself ready to listen to a long and possibly depressing story, before his own end. But if Snape needed it, then he would pay attention. The man deserved it. Yes, he did deserve it, and he would give this final gift to him.

"You said that Dumbledore had told you that the mentioned prediction was the old bat's second true prediction, didn't you?"

Oh, it probably was NOT about old sins. Harry almost sighed in relief.

"Yes, he did," he answered politely.

"So... that means it had to be a first true prediction."

"Yes." It was absolutely obvious. Why should, then, Snape mention it?

"But he never told me there was a first time."

"You didn't know about the second either."

"Indeed," frowned Snape, "He didn't talk about it to me. Why?"

"Perhaps he thought that it was not your business," this sentence sounded quite impertinent, Snape didn't care though.

"Or perhaps the contrary. It was far too much my business."

"What do you mean?" Harry stared at him quizzically.

"I will just try to arrange the known details."

"Severus, I cannot see your point..." the boy confessed quietly.

"It seems that neither can I," the Potions Master sneered. "But let's play a game. I tell you all the details I know and... we'll see what your opinion will be after that. Right?"

Harry nodded. He already understood what Snape wanted: to test his idea on him. He was curious and ready to help, even though he couldn't fathom why did Snape trusted him to put all those details together. He had never been that enigma-solver kind. That was Hermione, not him.

"Very well. Let's begin: the first detail: Dumbledore always encouraged me to know you better."

"You've already mentioned it," Harry remembered.

"All the things I am now going to tell you were already mentioned in the last days. The only difference will be the order. The order of the known facts."

"I see..." Harry was absolutely perplexed.

"Second: Quietus and Harold Potter were good friends. I suspect that he and your father were on good terms after a while."

"It sounds logical. Do you have any proof of that?" Harry asked.

"Well... I have a sort of proof... Do you remember that Quietus spent his holidays at the Potters?"

"Yes. But before, you mentioned the winter holidays only."

"Right. After I graduated I moved to London, I worked there for the Institute for Wealth Potions Researches, and Quietus asked me to stay with me during the holidays. I wasn't surprised, because I hated to live at home too, with my parents. I let him move into my flat. But in reality, he didn't live there. He just spent some weeks with me in the summer holidays, otherwise he lived at the Potters.

Harry was taken aback.

"And what did he do after graduation?"

"He spent that summer at the Potters again, but beginning in September I moved to the school - I began to teach that September - and the Headmaster allowed him to stay with me in my quarters. We didn't, however, have too many chances to speak or to meet: he worked for the Ministry."

"What was his job?"

"I don't know, but he graduated with maximal results. He never spoke about it. I think it was some boring job working with boring and dull files and documents... it was not a surprise that he abandoned it after some months. If I remember correctly that was already after the old Potters' funeral in February..." Snape sighed. "It all happened long ago and those months and years were so eventful... but as for Quietus, I don't know what his job was after that. Now, I think he was working for Dumbledore at that time - perhaps for the Order…"

"What is that?" Harry interrupted him.

"The Order?" Snape asked, and when Harry nodded he explained. "An organization of Dumbledore. It's full name is Order of the Phoenix and it was founded to help the war against Voldemort. I think Quietus worked for it afterwards, but I'm not sure, I never asked him, I didn't want to let out his secret in case Voldemort decided to question me with Veritaserum..."

"But you worked for Voldemort at that time! Did you restrain such an important information from him?"

"Yes, because I always loved my brother more than Voldemort, and I was so afraid of endangering him that I never even allowed myself to wonder about his work. I knew that as long as I didn't let the information be realised in my mind, it wasn't possible to press it out of me, either with Veritaserum."

"And later, when you turned to spy... what would you have done if Voldemort had decided to use the serum on you?"

"I would have Obliviated myself."

Harry couldn't help, but cry in horror.

"Obliviated? That's worse than a suicide!"

"In a certain sense, yes. And for now, we know that Voldemort is able to break through it."

"Yes... Bertha was the name of that Ministry witch, whose Obliviated memories Voldemort was able to recuperate, wasn't it?"

Snape nodded and Harry asked another question.

"Is Obliviation irreversible?"

"No, if you allow yourself enough time to recuperate. It just takes a lot of time. Weeks, maybe months. But if you break it or urge the procession, you cause irreversible damages. The Obliviated person becomes deranged and THAT is incurable. And there are some other requirements for the successful healing, but I don't remember them. But it doesn't matter, because later I learned that Voldemort never used Veritaserum, at least not on me. He was just too paranoid to use it. He was sure that there exist some secret anti-serum and he could be cheated. He had other ways to test one's loyalty."

"I'm not sure I'm curious about those ways..." Harry mumbled, but Snape didn't seem to hear the quiet remark.

"Do you remember when we were talking about my double-agent activities? I told you I tried not to kill any more people after I changed sides." Snape looked at the horrified Harry. "Well, I tried, but there were occasions when I couldn't do another thing if I wanted him to trust me. It happened first after I had made my oath to Dumbledore that I realised that the most useful - not safe, just useful - way to make Voldemort confide me was confessing him somehow that I worked also for the Headmaster, that I was a double agent. So I told Voldemort an edited version of my agreement with Albus, and I hoped that my obvious sincerity would make him believe me. I was wrong," he shuddered. "First he cast the Cruciatus on me several times, and questioned me again and again about my faithfulness. When I insisted to be loyal, he took me to the dungeons where the captives were and picked a muggle-born girl and ordered me to kill her. And I did." The self-loathing was unmistakable in the Potions' Master's voice. "And this year I was one of the murderers of Karkaroff for the same reason," he finished muttering.

"But then... why didn't you let me die?" Harry asked cautiously.

Snape lifted his head astonished. It was so hard to confess all these things to Harry, and he was afraid the boy would hate him again... but no. He was thinking and considering the facts as an adult.

"I made an oath to protect you, don't you remember? And... your behaviour during the torture was so identical to Quietus's... hey, Harry, I think we digressed from the original subject!"

"Yes... your puzzle, si... Severus," remembered Harry.

"Yes," the man sighed. "So, summing up what I told you: I already mentioned Albus's encouragement and the relationship between Quietus and the Potters. The next piece of our puzzle: Quietus wasn't only Potter's friend. Lily Evans was one of his friends too.

"I see," Harry said, although he didn't see.

"The fourth: the oath I made to Quietus's name to protect you. This piece of information contains two distinct elements though: the oath itself and the name of my brother."

Harry just nodded. The confusion was growing in his mind. What was that all about?

"Fifth: the dates. Quietus was killed in the 2nd of December, 1979. I saved your mother some days or weeks later, I don't remember precisely when. James Potter and she got married in February, 1980, and you were born in July of the same year, which means that you were conceived in the previous year's November.

A slight suspicion rose in Harry. Did Snape intend to say that...? His widened eyes were a kind of encouragement to the professor to continue.

"The next puzzle piece is your mother's behaviour, and her words she told me when I saved her."

"You said that she mixed you up with Quietus," Harry whispered.

"Yes, and her behaviour was really strange..." Snape was struggling to recall those words as precisely as he could. "She said she thought that I had been dead. Of course, she intended Quietus, not me... then she hugged me and I was so petrified that I couldn't say a word. Then she said she was already about to ask help from James Potter, but she was relieved she didn't need it..." Snape's voice cracked. "Then I yelled at her and I said she should go to Potter, because Quietus had died. Hearing my words, she collapsed to the ground and... just sat there until her sister arrived. She was at the funeral too... and seemed..."

"Stop, Severus," Harry's voice trembled, his mouth was completely dry. "I think I understand..."

"There's only one piece left, Harry," the man whispered.

"I'm sure it will be the proof itself."

Harry closed his eyes. He could feel his head swirling, his body and soul hurt in a strange, non-physical pain. Suddenly, everything appeared so unreal: the cell, the torches, the past days' sufferings, Snape and he himself too... Everything was shattered by an immense whirlwind that tried to rip him into pieces, like the pieces of this life-puzzle, HIS life - but who would be willing to gather HIS pieces and to build him again?

It was just too much. First Voldemort's announcement, and then Snape's puzzle, whose solution was crystal-clear to Harry, despite the fact he didn't know the last element of it. In the next moment, he found himself in all his fours shaking violently and retching. Now, he could perfectly understand Snape's previous behaviour.

He so desperately wanted to cry, to sob, but his eyes remained dry and his face was as it was made of stone...

"Relax, Harry, breathe," he heard a concerned voice. "Relax, kid, keep calm, I'm here..."

The last words seemed to have a magical effect on Harry: he remembered that the professor was sitting just in front of him and let himself collapsed into the waiting embrace. He didn't know how he was sure that Snape - no, not Snape, Severus - opened his arms, because his eyes were closed, but he was right nevertheless. He snuggled his head in Severus's shoulder and struggled - without results - to stop trembling.

Snape couldn't help but hiss in pain as he pressed Harry to his chest and rubbed calming circles on his back. The boy was completely passive and dazed, and moreover, he wasn't able to realise what happened around him. He was just so convulsed by his emotional confusion, as if he was put under the Cruciatus.

Yes, this kind of emotional storm was very similar to the tormenting curse, or at least its results. Even Snape himself needed a certain amount of time to overcome it.

The shivering of Harry ceased slowly. But when it was over Harry didn't move from Snape's embrace. On the contrary, he pressed his face to his chest as tightly as he could and mumbled into his robes.

"I think you can tell me the missing part of it, Severus."

"It's Trelawney's first prediction," he said calmly.

"I suspected," the answer was barely audible. "So? What did the old bat say?"

"I don't know the exact words, I wasn't there," began Snape. "She predicted it to Quietus who told me right after that, and we had been thinking about it quite a lot of times, but we couldn't find its meaning. She told him that he would die, but he would survive his own death by love... or something like this... and the one he loved would defeat the Dark Lord. But Voldemort would rise again and his offspring had to face death to live. Or something like this."

"It makes sense..." Harry's voice was weak and distant.

"Yes, it does..."

After a long silence, Harry pushed himself back to his heels, opened his eyes and looked at the Potions Master.

"I'm not sure what to do with this information," he confessed quietly. "And there are too many deaths mentioned in that prediction too..."

"I'm sorry," said Snape. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"No," Harry shook his head. "You didn't hurt me. Indeed, I want to thank you that you told me." 

"I can imagine..." Snape's answer was a bit sarcastic. "It can be pretty freaky to be related to me... After all things I told you today."

"You didn't tell me about them today. You've already confessed them days ago."

"But the details..."

Harry shrugged.

"These details were not as freaky as you think. Or... they were freaky, because I am sure that they haunt you, however... it should be really hard to make a decision in a situation like that. There weren't any good decisions. Just painful and damned decisions, whatever you did you destroyed something - or someone. I am glad I have never been in a situation like that. And Severus," Harry looked into Snape's eyes straight, "I am happy to be related to you. And thank you for telling me. You know, this is the best birthday present I ever got."

"Really?"

"Sure." Harry suddenly grinned, his lips curled into a mad smile, as he saw the stunned expression on the Potions Master's face. Nobody would believe him, if once they could get out from there. Nobody would believe him that the sarcastic and mean greasy-haired git could be happy and sad, relieved and frightened, terrified, worried - and even stunned, looking like a fool. And – most of all – nobody would believe him that this git was apparently his uncle.

Whatever Snape thought or believed about Harry's feelings, he was serious when he said he had the best birthday ever, and received the most beautiful present one could receive: he finally learned the secrets of his life, and found something he was so desperately longing for: family.

Family, and not only in a theoretical sense of the word, but in a very, very concrete sense: Severus, who cared for him here, in this hell, who worried for him, who shared all his pains and torments with him, was the brother of the man Harry had never known, or moreover, he hadn't even known about his mere existence two weeks before: Quietus, his father.

So strange... He first heard this name ten days ago. And now... Yes, Harry could understand perfectly Snape's desperation and anger when Harry mentioned Trelawney's second true prediction. He could, because he felt the same: both of them had been betrayed in the same way for long, long years, even though Harry wasn't sure who their traitor was. Dumbledore, who had apparently known everything and had never mentioned it neither to Harry nor to Severus? Or Lily Evans, his mother, who had told her secret to the Headmaster, but hadn't wanted to let Severus know, Severus, who had saved her life and even tried to save her family's life too? She had only taken a forced oath from the man, whose only precious thing in life had been his brother - and who certainly would have tried to give every help to his child, Quietus's child. Harry shook his head biting back the bitter tears. Probably, neither of those two had suspected the amount of grief and pain they caused with it. Harry, after getting to know the caring side of the sarcastic and biting Potions Master, was absolutely convinced that he would have been given the love and caring he had always been longing for from the man. And he, Severus would have been loved in return, and everything in their lives would have been better...

'_Would have been..._' Yes, they would never know what would have happened. And yet, it was a painful thought. Suddenly, Harry felt betrayed, deprived and very angry with the Headmaster. He had no right to withhold this information! He had no right to act like that! How could he do it? Why did he, Harry had to know the most important fact of his life just some hours before his death? WHY?

He said aloud the last sentences. The anger gave his battered body new powers, and he jumped to his feet.

"Severus, what if we reached a wrong conclusion? Surely, Dumbledore cannot be so ruthless..." he asked desperately.

"A simple blood-check would give us the correct answer, Harry, but I don't think we could perform this test in our life..."

"No, Severus. I decided I won't give up so easily. I will fight."

"How?"

"I don't know yet. But I am sure I don't want to die. I want to live. To give a chance to myself, to you, to us..." he yelled in frustration.

"We are too weak, Harry. And we would need a wand at the least, if we want to get out somehow."

"Yes, I know, but... I just..." he collapsed to the floor next to Snape. "Can't you do something? Anything? You're an adult, a trained wizard, you should devise something!"

"And what do you think I should do now?" Snape became angry all of a sudden. "I have no wand. I have no potions. I have no ideas. If we could get out of this cell, we would go to my lab in the third floor and there are some... But no, Harry. We just can NOT get out!"

"WE HAVE TO TRY!"

"How, Mr Potter?" Snape snapped up irritated. "Do you want me to knock down the Death Eaters who come to bring us to the execution? Marvellous idea! But I'm sorry I just can't clench my fists, indeed, I can't even stand up to kick them to death... And you? What can you do to two or more healthy adults without a wand? You are tottering, you haven't eaten for two weeks..."

"Yeah, you're right I know, just..."

"Just WHAT?" Snape yelled impatiently. "We have no chance," he added after some moments, more softly. "I am sorry, Harry."

Using all of his efforts, Snape stood up and crossed the cell to relieve himself. When he finally turned to return to their usual corner, his eyes caught the sight of a piece of wood in the shadow. It looked like a wand. A wand? Blinking in surprise, Snape stepped to the thing, and leaned forward to pick it up from the floor. But just as his hand reached it, he stopped. No. It was not a wand, of course. It was just the torch they threw away some days ago. What a pity... for a short instance, he believed they had some hope left... But seemingly not.

He could perfectly understand Harry's exasperated wish to get free. This revelation, added to the previous days' events led him to be ready to share his life with Harry. And even if they had been wrong with their conclusion it really didn't matter. He loved Harry for himself, not for Quietus's sake, he had realised it days ago.

When he sat down next to the boy, Harry spoke up.

"What did you see there?"

"Just the torch..." Snape grinned tiredly. "For an instant I thought I saw a wand..."

"A wand..." repeated Harry in a yearning voice. "Severus, do you know something about wand-making?"

Snape nodded.

"Something. I am not an expert of wand-making and I am sure Ollivander would kill me if he heard my explanation... but I'll tell you what I know."

"All right." Harry concentrated on Snape's words hard to take his mind off the dreadful nearing future.

"Making a wand requires four components: a piece of wood, a piece of a magical creature, a special potion and the ability of making wandless magic for the wand-maker. And, of course, there are some less important utensils for putting the wood and the magical core together."

"What kind of tree can you use to it?"

"Any kind. There are more popular types, but... it doesn't really matter. Every plant has its magical abilities, even the usual, well known plants. As you probably didn't notice."

"What?"

"I mentioned it at least ten times in the classes. Every plant has its magical abilities. I don't know if there exist a plant I never used in my potions..."

Harry cleared his throat.

"About wands, Severus..."

"Impertinent brat..." Snape sighed, but went on. "So? What else do you want to know about it?"

"Er... I am not sure that every animal is a magical creature..."

"Potter, that's impossible. I told you several, countless times: animals can be divided in two groups, like humans: magical and non-magical creatures. If you want to make a wand, you can use only magical creatures. Nothing else."

"I see..." nodded Harry. "And the potion you have to use?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Mr Potter, are you all right?" he asked in mimicked curiosity.

"Why?"

"You are asking me about something related to potion-making. Are you sure you want to hear about it? I don't want to overdose you…"

"Of course, sir," nodded Harry seriously ignoring the sarcastic remark. "And as I remember we already had a conversation about potions, didn't we? That... Flame Potion or what its name was..."

"Lightening Potion," the Potions Master corrected him immediately. "Yes, I remember. Can you list its ingredients?"

"Er... let see... sulphur and charcoal, powdered, both of them... some oil I think... sunflower? Phoenix feather and... and... I can't remember, sorry."

"Think about an animal related with fire."

"Dragon? Oh, yes. Dragon tooth."

"Very good. I can't believe it. Harry Potter and potion making... I AM shocked."

"It has to run in the family," Harry cracked a smile. Snape chocked out a laugh and shook his head in amusement.

"Family, eh?"

"What else?" Harry grinned and in mock curiosity, he nudged Severus. "Go on, then! I don't want to miss a word!"

Snape rolled his eyes, but went on.

"The potion required to make a wand is very similar to the Lightening Potion. The most important ingredients are the phoenix feather and the powdered sulph... Harry!" he suddenly cried out in excitement. "Bring me that damned torch, please!"

Harry, moaning, stood up and crossed the cell to the place the torch was. He lifted the piece of wood, examined thoroughly, and shrugging, he brought it to the agitated Potions Master.

"Here you are," he handed it over with a questioning expression on his face.

"I can't take it," Snape shook his head. "But I have an idea. You can perform wandless magic, can't you, Harry?"

"Yes, some kind of it..." the image of aunt Marge floating in the Dursley's dining room occurred to Harry. He snickered.

"Very well," the professor, on the contrary, remained extremely serious. "Harry, now, I think we have the chance to test our... relation."

"What?" Harry's jaw fell and looked at Snape as if he had gone mad.

"Are you deaf, boy? I said we can test whether we are related or not."

Harry nodded uncertainly.

"All right. But… what about this torch? And my wandless magic abilities?"

"Harry, Listen to me. Wizards generally don't use human ingredients as the magical core in our wands, because it makes the wand a little... capricious."

"We can use human ingredients?" Harry gaped in total disbelief. Then it clicked to him. "Fleur's wand!" he cried excitedly.

"What?" it was Snape's turn to ask.

"Last year... Triwizard Tournament. When you wanted to kill me with a certain potion, Colin saved me, when he took me to check my wand before the first task. Then, there was Fleur too, and her wand's core was her grandmother's hair."

"This is why I said we can check our relation, Harry. You can use human ingredient in your wand, if you are closely related to the witch or wizard whose part that ingredient was."

"Severus, do you mean that if we are related we have a wand too...?" Harry was astonished.

"No. In that case we have a wand-like piece of wood."

"I don't understand."

"It won't be a real wand, Harry. You can't use this piece of wood to fix things properly. You can use it to stun somebody or break the door, perhaps together with the wall, but you can't use it to... levitate me, for example."

"I see..." Harry's eyes were twinkling. "Let's try it. Take a hair of me and..."

"Harry, YOU have to do it. My hands are not suitable for such a work..."

"Sorry," Harry gulped guiltily. "It means that I have to use it too?"

"Yes. And you have to take a hair from my head." Snape lowered his head and Harry took the hair as cautiously as he could. "There's a hole in that damned torch," sneered Snape. "Put it in. And seal it with some mud from the floor… that's it."

"And now?" Harry stared at Snape expectantly.

"Now, onto the spell. I don't know the precise words: it's a long spell in Latin. But the important thing in doing magic is not the language but the intent. You have to imagine that that piece of wood in your hand is a real wand and you have to warm it up as much as you can with your magic. The wand is done when a little flame appear on its top, and begin to cool down by itself. But Harry..." Snape looked into the boy's eyes. "It works only if we are related."

"And if I'm able to perform a spell I don't even know."

"We have nothing to lose," Snape said quietly.

"We have everything to lose."

They stared at each other for some long moments, then Snape nodded.

"All right then. Try it."

Harry lifted the torch and looked at it. The whole situation would have been so ridiculous if it hadn't been about life and death. He sighed, closed his eyes and grasped the torch tightly. He tried to think about it as a wand, but he just couldn't. He was struggling with his own doubts, weakness, and tiredness, but in reality he didn't know what to think, to do.

What if he was just Harry Potter, and not the supposed son of Quietus Snape?

The torch trembled in his hand.

Snape watched the boy struggling, but he couldn't help him. Their only chance was in his hand, but he couldn't blame the boy for his doubts. He had his own doubts too. Doubts about his idea's usefulness, about their relations, about Harry's abilities. It was not easy.

Finally, Harry opened his eyes.

"I can't do it, Severus," he said sadly. He knelt down, dropped the torch weakly and asked, "If I am indeed your brother's son, why do I look like James Potter?"

Snape nodded in understanding. The answer was very unambiguous for him, but Harry didn't know enhanced magic, and this was an extremely enhanced one.

"This is a magic like your mother's. A kind of love magic too. As the love of your mother was able to save your life, James Potter's love towards you and his self-sacrifice made you his real son. Real son, in nearly every sense of the word. You inherited many of his abilities, his features..."

"My Patronus is... Prongs... is him too... in his animagus-form."

"Yes," nodded Snape. "It makes sense. He saved your life, and since then, his love has been watching over you - and the Patronus is a kind of expression of this guarding. Harry," he smiled at the boy reassuringly. "In a certain sense you are the son of three strong and loving wizards..."

"But all in all it means that instead of two dead parents I have three..." Harry concluded the sentence and Snape winced to the bitter tone in his voice.

"Harry..." he tried to say something reassuring, but Harry interrupted him.

"Sorry. I was just..." but Snape, fighting with his own pain, placed a hand on Harry's shoulder again.

"Harry, do you remember the conversation we had after you... when we were returned from the other cell?" He didn't wait for the answer and went on, "Do you remember what I said to you? It just doesn't matter what had happened in the past, who your parents are. If we get out of here, I assure you, I will be there for you... like a... parent, if you want."

The last words were really softly spoken, but Harry heard them perfectly. He lifted his gaze to the Potions Master, smiled, and raised the torch in his hand, depicting to himself the moments, when he had been holding his own wand, and the first sensation of holding a wand in Ollivander's shop, the warmth he had felt in his body and the sparkles, and he wished with all his might in the same time that the piece of wood in his hand would be a wand that he could use to save themselves from this pit of death... Then he thought of his parents... their lives and sacrifice for him, and this love gave him a new, warm sensation, like Snape's caring in the previous days...

Love, caring and family...

Warmth and light...

Everything he was longing for...

The stick in his hand became warmer and warmer, and as he lifted it, sparkles were dancing in the darkness of the cell... its temperature was still growing... Harry could feel as it burned his flesh and it ached, though this pain was practically nothing comparing the torturing chambers' pains...

Warmer and hot and hotter... It started to hurt even more, he could barely hold it, and he was just about to drop it when suddenly the burning sensation stopped.

Harry opened his eyes. He didn't know when he had closed them, perhaps when the pain had begun to overcome him... And what he saw, warmed his heart with joy and hope.

In the top of the stick, a tiny, light blue flame billowed and as he moved his hand a little bit a new set of sparkles emanated from it. Harry stared at it, wide-eyed, as the little children stared at the sparkler in Christmas. Well, his feelings were similar to it too.

"It works," he whispered hoarsely and blinked, "uncle Severus."

"I've never thought I would have a nephew to greet in the family, Harry," Snape smiled and struggled to snap out of his reverie. "But we should hurry," he said and with the help of the wall, he stood up. "We can only do one thing if we want to break out somehow. We have to go to my lab on the third floor."

"Why?" Harry didn't want to believe to his ears. They had to make an absolute unnecessary trip, just because Severus thought that…

"There are stairs in the end of the cells' corridor which lead there directly. In my lab, I have some useful potions to make us feel a little bit better, and be able to break through. And there, I have a thing, the only thing I don't want to be left here: Quietus's wand. The pledge of our escape."

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"So Dumbledore decided to go and save his favourite pawns," the smile on Voldemort's face was dreadful. Even Lucius Malfoy winced to it. "Excellent timing! I have a wonderful surprise for them. For Dumbledore and all his Order."

He turned his head to a tall, brown-haired man, who nodded to him in return.

"So... the trap is laid," he lifted his hands and suddenly, he seemed much taller and more menacing than before. "This evening we will have a double reason to celebrate. Harry Potter will no longer exist as an obstacle between me and the wizarding community... As to the Order... it won't be a threat anymore either."

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	13. RUN!

Betaed by Lliey Gemini

Revised: 11-01-04 

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**Chapter 13 - RUN!**

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"So... what must I do?" Harry looked expectantly at Snape.

"You have to open the door. When you've done it, we'll try to reach the third floor as silently as we can. There, I have some healing and energy potions and, as I said, Quietus's wand. With this stick," he waved towards the torch in Harry's grasp, "we cannot perform even a simple spell correctly. The most important thing is to be silent... I don't want to run until it's necessary."

Harry nodded, scrambled to his feet, but he immediately regretted it. He felt dizzy and weak, and perhaps making wandless magic had its part in his tiredness... He didn't know. The room was dancing around him.

"I think we... we'll have some problems in getting to the third floor."

"Yeah..." Snape moaned as he stretched cautiously. "That is the main reason, I don't want to run. Simply, I don't think I'm able to use my legs. But we must do it, if we can't be silent enough. Open the door, but... the spell... say it as soft as you can. As I told you that stick in your hand is not a real wand, just something similar to that."

The boy nodded and lifted the torch.

"Now?" he looked at Snape waiting for his permission.

"Now!" he nodded seriously and his face tensed.

"_Alohomora,_" Harry whispered as softly as he was asked, his voice was barely audible even in the silence of the dungeons, the stick was pointed to the door.

The next moment, the door ripped out from the wall and with an extremely loud 'boom' hit the opposite wall of the corridor and the blast of the explosion put out the torches in the cell. Harry gaped frozen, feeling unable to move.

"I tried... I didn't..." he muttered but Snape didn't pay attention to his words. The Potions Master pushed him towards the door.

"Move! It didn't happen anything unexpected," he coughed. "Hurry," he added and jumped out to the dark corridor. To their luck, there was total chaos outside: dust whirled in the air and all the torches in the corridor were extinct too. "Turn right," Harry still heard, but in the darkness, he disappeared from Harry's sight.

Snape, in spite of his supposed illness and tiredness, was really quick, and Harry just wasn't able to follow him. Every part of his body hurt, he couldn't breathe because he was nearly suffocated by the dust, and without his glasses he felt extremely uncertain. When he noticed that Snape had vanished in the darkness, he began to get panicked. Turning swiftly right as he was told, he tripped against a piece of stone ripped previously from the wall, and with a thump he fell on the floor. When his body hit the ground, he felt a sharp pain in his left side as a sharp piece of metal reopened a wound there and buried itself deep into his body.

Harry shrieked in the red-hot pain.

"Severus!" he cried, but he couldn't hear any answer.

He was left alone.

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"When will you come back?" Anne asked Lupin worriedly.

"I don't know, luv. As I told you we go to save two friends from the evil wizard's prison, and it will be very dangerous and long. But I'm sure we'll be back by tomorrow morning, all right?"

The little girl just nodded.

"And Anne... if anything would happen to me, you will stay with this simple fellow behind me, and he will take care of you."

"What? Remus, you cannot be seri..." Black stuttered.

"Shut up," Lupin barked and turned to the girl again. "See, I said, well, he's a little bit simple, but he loves you, and he care for you. All right?"

"But you will come back," the pleading in the girl's eyes was unmistakable. Lupin gulped.

"I'll try, okay? I can't tell you the precise time, but I'll try to be here by tomorrow. Okay?"

"No. If you are not sure when you will return then don't go!"

"Anne... I must go... A boy is waiting for us there. He will die if we don't go to save him. You have to understand it, please..."

The girl didn't answer just snuggled to the werewolf tightly.

"Please, come back," she wet Lupin's clothes with her tears. "Please, Remmy..."

Lupin didn't say a word just caressed the girl's hair with calming and soothing movements. He wanted to return, really, possibly with Harry.

"Don't forget: our strength is in our rapidity and the surprise... But we have to be ready for facing anything... We don't know what is waiting for us there, so," Dumbledore's face darkened. "Please, be cautious. VERY cautious. I don't want to lose you. Any of you."

He could see the impression of his words on the faces opposite to him.

Twenty faces, twenty allies - not more. He didn't intend to risk more lives in a hazardous challenge like this. Twenty - and he was cautious to leave powerful allies behind, in case if... If they wouldn't return.

He turned to McGonagall.

"Minerva, you know your task," Dumbledore's face was frozen and emotionless. His eyes were missing the usual sparkles over his half-moon spectacles. His colleague nodded.

"Yes, Albus. I will waiting for you here in case and when Poppy..."

"No, Minerva. We won't return here. Just me, if I survive. You have to wait for the others in Snape Manor. That will be our meeting point. Poppy will join you there."

"Is it because of the Ministry, Albus?" she asked in a hushed voice.

The Headmaster nodded. 

"They will suspect the Order, as they always did. The first place to examine will be the school. On the other hand, I don't trust our colleagues. Somebody is leaking information. It was a misfortune that almost everybody from the staff was still in the school, when we began to organise this meeting…"

"Yes, because of the exams, " McGonagall nodded. "But now, even Vilma has departed, we are alone here…"

"The others... Do they know where to meet after?" McGonagall asked suddenly.

"Of course, professor, we know..." she heard an elderly voice from behind her back. She turned around in surprise.

"Alastor, you - here?" the professor's eyes widened in shock as she looked at the old Auror.

Moody seemed a little embarrassed.

"Well... yes. I asked my old fri..." he lifted his eyes to Dumbledore and rapidly corrected himself. "I asked Albus to let me join you in this challenge. But... excuse me... I want to talk to him er... in private."

McGonagall didn't move just crossed her arms over her chest, narrowed her eyes in suspicion, and asked in a hostile manner.

"To talk to him... about what? Do you want to convince him to let Severus be left there, in the hands of that monster? Or do you want to secure your rights over him after returning? No, Alastor. Severus is..." the Transfiguration professor hissed angrily, but Dumbledore interrupted her with placing his hand on her arm.

"Minerva, please... I allowed him to join our... trip, and now, I want to talk to Alastor too... in private." He smiled slightly as he looked at his colleague. "And I promise you, he won't be able to persuade me to leave Severus there, all right?"

McGonagall nodded and shot a last, angry glance to the Auror.

"All right then." And with that, she turned around and joined a group standing at the main entrance.

"So, what is it, Alastor?" Dumbledore turned to his ex-friend almost coldly.

Moody looked into his ex-friend's eyes straight.

"Albus, I want to apologise. You were right when..."

"You don't own me any apologies. You owe them to Severus," Dumbledore said, his voice a little bit warmer.

"I know, Albus. But I have a feeling I won't have the chance to tell him personally," the old man shrugged. "But I swear you, if I can, I will. But... anyway, I want to ask you to give him my apology. I was wrong," both his normal and magical eyes were fixed on the man standing before him. "I was wrong during those years. I did horrible things. Some of them I'll never regret though. But as for Snape... I've failed him. I have no excuses for what I did. Tell him, Albus. Tell him, please."

Dumbledore didn't say a word, just nodded. The old Auror's face softened a little bit.

"Thank you," he said and left.

Some minutes later, Dumbledore and the selected people of the Order departed towards the Apparating Point, which lay deep in the Forbidden Forest. McGonagall stared after them, standing hand in hand with Anne in the school's gate.

Who knew what was waiting for the little group? They, the Order, were always so alone in this war, fifteen years ago too, even if the Ministry hadn't been ignoring Voldemort then, but had led stupid attacks against him, which had caused such immense losses, without real results. How many lives had been lost because of the Ministry's and Mercury's stupidity. And the violence they had used against anybody suspicious, just like now… It seemed that nothing had changed in the past fifteen years. The Minister was another person, but a complete idiot this time, very unlike of the cruel and vicious Mercury, the Aurors all were trained to act like Moody: as ruthless monsters who didn't realise the consequences of their acts, that hatred always caused hatred, pain caused more pain and revenge bred revenge. It was an endless and meaningless circulus vitiosus and they didn't even notice it, they had never noticed it. Stupid morons, Severus had been right. Stupid morons who would act again against them, like years ago, them, the Order of the Phoenix, which had always been compelled to fight the war against not only the Dark Side, but the stupidity and narrow-mindedness of the wizarding society too.

She stared after the departed group. 

What if they couldn't save Harry? What would the wizarding world do without its appointed, however teenager, saviour? What would his friends do; feel? What would she feel?

What if they couldn't save Severus? The biting and sarcastic and in the same time helpful and devoted colleague? The greasy git, as the students called him, who was just too guilty to behave in a normal way? But sometimes, they had had great conversations - and quarrels, yes, they had had quite a lot of quarrels too, mostly since Harry had begun his studies in Hogwarts and become a member of her house. But Severus had always been protecting the boy nonetheless, and once he had even confessed that he had been forced to make an oath to Lily Potter to protect Harry... Yes, Severus, who had always been loyal to his oaths... And had always been loyal to Quietus who had finally turned him to Dumbledore with his sacrifice, who had turned him into a spy, a very useful, cunning spy, who had never asked anything in return for his services, just had done what Dumbledore had told him to do, often much more than that...

Her thoughts stopped at Quietus for a while. Quietus, who had been the brightest student of Hogwarts in the century, and had been unquestionably one of the most talented and trained wizards of the wizarding world - and the best-hearted man she had ever met. He had been the total opposite of Voldemort and Dumbledore had planned him to be his successor... and the Headmaster had been so broken after Severus had showed up with his dead brother in his arms THAT night. The old man had barely spoken for days, and in reality, he had never gotten completely over with it. He didn't blame Severus nevertheless; he had never blamed him. The Potions Master had held himself responsible anyway.

She shot a last glance after the little company now disappearing in the Forbidden Forest.

What if they wouldn't return? Would she be able to lead this war? Without Dumbledore's wisdom? Without Fletcher's cunning? Without Arabella's stubborn fidelity, Dawn's power, Andrews' good sense of humour, Etherny's eagerness...? Not to mention Lupin and Black, who were not members of the Order, or not yet, but to loose them... the last remainders of the Marauders...

Twenty loyal and strong wizards. Where were they going?

***************************************************************************

"Harry, get up! Quick!" Harry heard suddenly a sharp voice in the darkness.

"I can't," he whispered weakly. "Something... in my side... I'm bleeding" he moaned trying to swallow back his tears.

"Oh, no. Not now," murmured Snape angrily, his teeth clenched. Harry got frightened of the words, but the next moment he realised that the professor wasn't angry with him, but with the circumstances. "You should have been more cautious," the man muttered and sneaked his arms around Harry's shoulder. "Try to stand up, slowly… That's it. I'll carry you."

"No," Harry shook his head even if Snape couldn't see him in the darkness. "Just help me to stand up, I can walk, but... don't leave me alone again, please..."

"...msorry," he heard a soft mumbling and he felt the arms supporting him. "I thought you were right behind me..." the next moment Harry found himself lifted.

"Put me down," he hissed angrily. "I can walk."

"Really?" It was the sarcastic Potions Master's voice, but the arms just held him.

After the third stair, however, Snape had to agree with Harry. He put him down.

"Grasp my arm, Harry," he whispered. Harry stubbornly refused the idea and made his own way up. It was a long and painful trip towards the third floor, he felt his side throbbing, and...

"Stop!" A sharp voice bellowed behind them. Harry whirled as fast as he could and lifted the stick in his hand.

"_STUPEFY!_" he yelled aloud.

The man was cast long back by the power of the spell, but even the corridor behind them began to collapse.

"No, Potter, that was really stupid... It would have been enough to whisper that damned spell..." Snape hissed and tugged the seemingly petrified boy's hand motioned him up. "Hurry, if you don't want to die right here."

Harry snapped out of his thoughts and turned to follow Snape.

"Grasp my arm, stupid boy," the Potions Master barked angrily. "I can't grasp you," he added vehemently. Harry didn't dare to resist any more, and grabbed the angry man's upper arm as cautiously as he could. For some minutes, Harry let himself dragged. The corridor collapsed totally behind them, and by now, everything was blurrier and darker with the dust in the air. Harry coughed and tried to keep his eyes open.

"Severus..." he said after a while. "I can't go further. It... hurts... my side."

"You MUST, Potter!" his voice now sounded desperate and worried rather than angry. "Harry, please..."

Harry clenched his teeth determinately and lifted his leg. Next stair... and another one... The pain in his side was so hot, so hot, and something warm and wet ran down his left side, wetting his rags. His bare feet were aching walking in the rough ground. His power was leaving him... And that hotness just burned him ruthlessly. He would die, he was sure as everything became darker and darker and also blurrier, he couldn't hear anything, and finally he couldn't sense anything, he didn't feel his body going limp, he didn't realise Snape's hissing as he lifted him into his arms, carefully and protectively...

Everything went black around him.

...

A slap on his cheek woke him.

"Harry, Harry, you have to wake up. We have no more time!" he heard a sharp voice from above.

"Wha...what?" he felt considerably better, but he didn't dare to open his eyes. "Where am I?"

"In my lab. And now, after  drinking all of my supplies, you can't be so ill as not to be able to walk and run for a while. And put on some clothes. Hurry!"

Harry opened his eyes. He was in a small potions lab, lying on a large desk. He could see Snape leaning into a wardrobe, searching. When he emerged, there were some pieces of clothes in his arms. He looked very nervous.

"Put these on," he commanded, and Harry noticed that he was already dressed. He grinned, and still struggling with a slight nausea, he put on the oversized clothes, which Snape shortened with scissors with some fast movements.

"Do you feel better?" the man asked.

"Considerably," Harry grinned deciding not to mention his nausea.

"Thank goodness," Snape muttered. "For some minutes, I thought you'd died. That hook in your side... Uh..." he shuddered. "You will feel it after the effects of the Nerve-Numbing Potion wear off, but I hope we'll reach Hogwarts before..."

"Why didn't they come yet?" Harry asked.

"They?"

"The Death Eaters."

"Oh, I see. I think they're checking the crumbled corridor for our corpses," a short, dry laugh. "But it won't take a lot of time, I think. We have to hurry. They'll suspect that I came here."

Harry nodded.

"Is there another way to get out?"

"Of course," Snape lifted an eyebrow annoyed. "There's a hidden passage under that picture."

He pointed to the wall with his head. Harry looked at the picture, which wasn't a painting: it was a magical photo of a raven. Nothing extraordinary: it was a simple, black raven. The bird swung his wings as if to greet Harry, and bowed his head politely. Harry bowed in return amused.

He felt Snape standing behind him, and Harry couldn't help but looked up to him curiously.

"Why did you put a picture like this on your office wall?"

"This is not just a simple photo, Harry," Snape now didn't seem to hurry so much. "He is Quietus in his animagus-form."

Harry whirled back to the picture and saw the raven nodding to the professor's words.

"Oh, no..." he groaned painfully. "Does he know that...?"

The raven nodded.

"It was the first thing I told him when I got here with you," Snape answered calmly. "But, Harry, we have no time..."

"I don't want to leave the picture behind..." Harry seemed startled.

"Do you know any shrinking spell?"

"Of course," the boy answered, "Though… I'd rather not try to do that with our hand-made wand..."

"You don't need that any more, Harry. Here is your fa... Quietus's wand. 17', cherry-wood, raven feature."

Harry became embarrassed.

"Why don't YOU use it?"

"The wand doesn't like me," Snape answered simply. "And I think it belongs to you."

In Snape's outstretched hand, there was a wand for Harry. The boy reluctantly reached for it, and first, just touched it kindly: he was aware of the fact that in the wizarding world every magical thing had his impact on the person who got in touch with it. And this was not a simple magical thing - this was much more. This was his father's wand.

The strange, distant feeling again... His father who had died before he he even been born, who had never known that he had a son... Even though Harry didn't remember James or his mother either, during the years, he had become accustomed of the idea of them being his parents... And there were those tale-telling similarities between him and James Potter. But Quietus Snape was a complete stranger in every sense of the word.

Why should all of this happened to him? Why?

He couldn't answer his own questions, and suddenly he was totally sure, that it was too late. Everything was too late. He would never be able to consider Quietus Snape as his father. It was just too late for it. And it was his mother's and Dumbledore's fault. They kept it in secret from him, even if the man hadn't deserved to be forgotten...

When his finger finally closed around the smooth wood, a very familiar sensation ran through his body. It was like when he first touched his own wand. Suddenly he grasped it tightly.

The first moment nothing happened. But when he motioned his hand and made a small flicker with it, he suddenly found himself surrounded by thoughts and emotions so forcefully that he had to shut his eyes, and his face went pale.

Snape got frightened.

"Harry?" he asked cautiously. "Is everything okay?"

The boy gasped sharply and his eyes swung open.

"Severus..." his expression was painful. "Severus I want to ask you something... something serious."

"Is there any problem?" Snape's terror was growing.

"No, just I... I want to ask you..." Harry stopped for a moment, "in case I... if anything happened to me, please, promise that you... that you won't do anything silly... You won't blame yourself, promise me, please..."

"Harry, nothing will happen," the man  shook his head. "Believe me. We'll get out of here. We'll have a good breakfast at Hogwarts tomorrow morning, right?"

"Promise me, please," Harry was pleading. "Please," he repeated.

"All right then, I promise, but... why do you ask me to do it?"

"I don't know... Perhaps it was your brother's last wish before dying..."

"Possibly," Snape sighed in obvious relief. "Now let's go... They'll be here in no time."

"A moment," Harry shrunk the picture with a quick wave of his father's wand and put it in his pocket. "We may go."

They disappeared into the dark tunnel.

***************************************************************************

Twenty people hand in hand forming a strange circle in a clearing of the Forbidden Forest had to be a shocking sight for anybody watching, thought Fletcher sarcastically. And in the centre of their childish-like circle stood a semi-conscious Nott, stunned, and Dumbledore's wand was pointed to him.

"The moment we reach our destination, I want everybody with wand in hand," the Headmaster ordered seriously.

"We know it, Albus, We are not your students preparing for the NEWTs," Fletcher barked angrily. "You don't need to repeat the very basics..."

Black murmured something, which sounded like an agreement, but Lupin silenced him with a sharp glare.

"I know that, Mundungus," Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I trust you, all of you. I just wanted..." he couldn't finish the sentence. Fletcher felt the familiar tug of the Portkey as the Forest disappeared from his sight. The only difference was, that in their case now Nott was the Portkey.

They hit the ground hard as they landed, and their first motion was to pull out their wands.

Deadly cold circled them. It was as cold as in an especially hard winter in a pole. The cold of non-existence, of the space. Evil and ruthless.

"Oh, no. Remus," Black groaned desperately. "Dementors..."

"And werewolves," Lupin added quietly. "We are surrounded by them from every side."

"They knew about our arrival," Fletcher said darkly.

"Silence," they could hear Dumbledore's voice. "Wands in hand, and as they move closer the Whites will perform a Patronus Charm, the Yellows try to bind the approaching werewolves. The Reds stay on alert and the Greens will build a shield just after the Patronuses begin to move."

Lupin and Black stared at each others.

"And the Colourlesses?" Black asked suddenly.

Snickers could be heard from the members of the circle.

"Black you'll be White," Dumbledore said and someone chuckled nervously. "Lupin Green. Alastor Yellow."

Black closed his eyes. Not good. He as a White! He could NOT conjure a Patronus. Indeed, he was frozen and shocked as the familiar feeling approached him more and more.

Faceless shadows appeared around them. They seemed to wave in the cold mid-air and inhaled sharply all the feelings they could sense from the men in the circle.

"NOW!" Dumbledore shouted in a voice Black had never thought he would hear from the old man.

He lifted his wand to try the spell, although he knew it was totally useless, but in the next instant Lupin nudged him.

"Green" he whispered into his ears and aloud he said, clearly and firmly "Expecto Patronum!"

Five different shapes appeared in the darkness moving towards the faceless and menacing figures. The air warmed a little. Black waved his wand as the Greens built a magical shield around the circle. But it came out too soon that it didn't keep back the attacking werewolves. At least thirty jumped out of the forest running towards them.

"Keep together. Don't move," the Headmaster's voice penetrated their slightly shocked minds.

The Yellows managed to finish eight of them before they could reach the circle. The others, however, were able to break through. The order of the circle disappeared. An extremely big animal attacked the white-bearded Headmaster, another one jumped on Fletcher who tried to fight and maintain his Patronus simultaneously. It was impossible. The werewolf opened his chops, his fangs were twinkling in the semi-darkness. Fletcher gave up the vain fight to maintain the Patronus, and tried to avoid getting bitten by the wild animal. He was nearly successful when a second one joined to the first, and a moment later a third.

Dumbledore too, had to fight against them, like the other Whites, and in a minute there was only one Patronus fighting with the nearing dementors: Lupin's, who was somehow avoided by his 'fellows'.

Black's resistance began to diminish as the dementors were near again. His sight became blurred and suddenly, he saw Anne, dead in the ruined room, his parents lying on the floor, torn and tortured, dead as their daughter... Then saw Judith's letter saying she was going to marry another man... He fell on his knees slowly and jerked.

"_Stupefy!_" a cold voice stunned at least five werewolves, but there were more.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

"_Expelliarmus!_"

"_Stupefy!_"

"_Evanesco!_"

The fight became more and more passionate and desperate. After a while, they forgot the reason they came for, as they were struggling for their own lives. They were routed and dispersed, fighting one by one.

"There's no hope left," Black thought, when he felt that somebody pulled him by his arm.

"Stand up, idiot," a cold voice barked angrily. Moody.

"Leave me alone, bastard," Black pulled his shoulder out of the Auror's grasp.

"I saved your life, idiot."

"Shut up, bastard."

"Shut up you two," a third, more friendly voice joined conversation. "Let's go! We are not followed. The others are fighting with the dark creatures. We have to find Harry and Severus."

Black looked up to his friend, and saw that Moody nodded to his words in agreement. They pulled him to his feet and began to run as silently as they could away from their companions towards the large building. Before they left the forest they stopped.

"It could be a trap," Lupin whispered.

"All this situation isn't but a trap," Moody muttered angrily. "But we have no other choice... wait here. I'll go nearer. If anything happens to me, don't follow," with a glare, he silenced the two friends and left.

He could take only some steps... At least twenty figures emerged from the windows of the building.

"Crucio!"

"Oh, no," Lupin's face turned grey and he felt suddenly sick. "A twenty-timed Cruciatus... He would die in a minute... _STUPEFY_!" he jumped out to defend the old Auror.

"_Finite Incantatem!_" Black followed his friend.

As they had a moment break grabbed the old and unconscious-like man and dragged him back to the forest.

"Idiots!" The old man wasn't unconscious. "You should have left me! Run! They'll be here in no time! Leave me alone!"

"No!" Lupin cried angrily.

"Yes! You have things to do. Free Potter and Snape. Go! Leave me!"

Lupin wanted to say something, but in the next instant he could hear footsteps approaching.

"Go!" the Auror yelled. "NOW!"

Lupin, with a sudden decision,  grabbed his friend's arm, and they disappeared amongst the trees by the time the Death Eaters reached their previous spot. But they could hear clearly what happened there.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" It was Moody's voice. But the next wasn't his.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

Everything went silent.

"We can't save Harry," Black sighed. "We can't approach the building. I wonder if the others are still alive."

"Let's go, Sirius. We have to try it somehow."

***************************************************************************

The dark tunnel was not too long: it ended some feet later. They chose another path from there, hidden and dark corridors, semi-dark hallways, other tunnels, catwalks, rooms and halls. After a while Harry lost his ability to orientate, just followed Snape numbly wondering about his life and the freshly discovered news.

They finally entered a large bathroom, where Snape uncovered a manhole and motioned Harry to climb into it. When they were already in it together, Harry risked a silent question.

"Where are we going now?"

"To the yard. There's a pool in the yard, this tunnel ends there."

"I can't swim," Harry gulped and began to panic.

"You don't need. Just grab my arm when I tell you, and take a deep breath before sinking."

Harry shuddered as he climbed ahead. He couldn't feel any pain, but he wasn't right either. Snape explained him that they were not healed, there hadn't been time for healing. They were simply overdosed by painkillers and energy potions. It was a miracle they could move at all.

Harry saw that Snape's hand didn't function well either, as he couldn't yet hold or grasp anything or clench his fists. The man, understandably, didn't have a wand, but he slipped the transformed torch into his belt. 'In case of emergency' he commented seeing Harry's surprised look.

"What if they are waiting for us at the end of the tunnel?" the boy asked suddenly.

"I don't know. We don't have many chances to survive then," he shrugged. "Although I'm not sure they know about this way out. That tunnel from my lab, I did it after I changed sides, to maintain an opportunity to escape in case of... being uncovered. Then I discovered this route. I called it 'emergency exit'."

"I see..."

As they approached the end of the tunnel the silence was over. They could hear several different sounds and noises, muffled and distant yelling and shouting.

"What's that?" Harry asked nervously.

"I don't know," was the answer. "Perhaps the preparations for the feast. They can be quite excited by now: they revealed the traitor and captured their lord's archenemy..."

"But I suspect they know about our escape..."

"I don't know... Nobody is following us, which means that they didn't reach my office. Not yet. Or they lost our tracks... It's strange... Something is wrong..."

"Or something is diverting them..." Harry whispered hopefully.

"Do you think that Dumbledore's found us?" to Harry's surprise, Snape's voice seemed hopeful too.

"It's possible, isn't it?"

"Yes, but..." the Potions Master's face turned dark, "I suspect they were waiting for them, then."

"What?"

"As I said, I have a feeling there's someone in Dumbledore's staff who is leaking information..."

"Does it mean...?" Harry didn't dare to end the sentence. 

Snape just nodded.

"But, at least they don't suspect anything about us. And perhaps we have the chance to escape without being discovered."

"But we cannot leave them behind!" Harry stared at Snape. "If they are in trouble..."

"...then you are NOT the most appropriate person to save them. They came to save you. If you can escape with their help, you must. Don't turn their sacrifice meaningless by acting silly, Harry. We have to get out of here."

"But we have to inform them somehow that we..."

"No. We have to get to Hogwarts before the potions lose their effects and we wouldn't able to make the slightest move without seeing stars in pain. Do you understand?"

Harry wasn't convinced, but nodded.

"All right then. Listen. When we get out of the pool, we have to reach the forest as fast as possible. The Anti-Apparition Wards end there. The moment we cross the wards, we disapparate abruptly. No stupid actions, don't think about going to rescue the others. YOU are the most important person now."

Harry could see the water appearing in front of him.

"How long... to reach the pool?" he asked in a tiny voice.

"Thirty feet approximately. One short minute. But as soon as we get out of the water we must run." Snape stopped for a moment. "Do you feel all right, Harry?" he asked, his voice worried, but Harry could see lines of tiredness on the familiar face.

"It's all right, Severus. And," he stepped to the tall man and hugged him for an instant, "thank you."

"Er..." Snape didn't know what to answer. "Then... grab my arms. Inhale deeply, now!"

They sank into the water.

***************************************************************************

"Remus, they are here..." Black whispered desperately. "I can feel them, oh my God..."

He began to tremble violently.

"Sirius! Sirius, calm down, I'm here..."

"Anne..." Black couldn't help but fall down jerking.

"Sirius, keep up!" Lupin lifted his wand. "I will protect you. _Expecto patronum!_" he shouted, and with his other hand tried to pull his friend up from the ground. "Sirius, you can't be so weak! Not now!"

"Yeah," Black moaned in return, "I just..."

"We have to disapparate, Sirius, if..."

"But Harry..."

"We'll die here and we can't help him, Sirius... Can't you understand?"

"We have failed him..." Black whispered.

"It was not our fault. It was a trap. Somebody has betrayed us. And it was certainly not Snape."

"Well... you're right, just..."

"_CRUCIO!_" 

Three Death Eaters appeared in front of them, and Lupin cursed himself for being so careless, as he hit the ground in the immense pain. His Patronus disappeared and the dementors got closer.

"Noooo!" Black shrieked in the physical and emotional pain.

Lupin, however, suffered in silence. So this was the end. He never imagined it as such...

Two tall figures stepped closer to the jerking men, and they put their hoods aback when they leaned forward to perform the kiss.

Black's shriek became insufferable, but Lupin was frozen by dread. No. Not THIS end... Pain and kiss in the same time...

"_Stupefy!_"

"_Expecto patronum!_"

The two strong spells drove their attackers away.

"That was close, Ari," Lupin was relieved as he heard Fletcher's voice. "Get up!" the brown man yelled at the two men lying on the floor. "The battle is not over yet!"

"The others? What happened to the others?"

"Etherny and Noah have died. Moody disappeared somewhere..."

"He was killed too..." Black whispered weakly.

"I see. The others began to approach the building. The major part of the dementors has disappeared, we don't know, why. The werewolves too... Something is very wrong." Figg's voice was stern and cool. "Get up! We have to join them..."

Black and Lupin jumped to their feet.

"All right then..." Fletcher began but he couldn't finish. A dreadful, a terrible screaming sounded in the darkness.

"HARRY! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! _STUPEFY!_"

Then silence.

***************************************************************************

When they reached the surface of the water, Snape threw the boy to the bank and climbed after him.

The forest seemed to be so far away...

"We have to run, Harry..."

"Let's go!" the boy nodded in understanding.

They kicked themselves off the ground and started to sprint towards the waiting trees. Harry felt sick and his back began to ache. His legs too. Then his chest. His arms. Finally, his side with an almost unbearable pain.

After two hours of climbing and struggling the potions started to lose their effects.

Harry stumbled and his run slowed. Then again. His head was dizzy, and the pain... Why? Perhaps because they were in a truly bad shape and their body was overtired and tortured... Harry didn't know, but he was not able to run any more. He was stumbling after Snape, who, seemingly, didn't feel the potions wearing off and ran as fast as he could... But Harry couldn't call after him. He was too weak.

He fell to his knees. NO! He had to be stronger than that!

Struggling with his pain and weakness, he stood up and staggered after the Potions Master. The distance between them was just too much. He wouldn't reach him in his life, somehow Harry was sure.

And then... A familiar cold sensation stopped the professor and dampened Harry's feelings. For a moment, everything went black and he could hear his mother's voice pleading 'Not Harry, please...', but in the next instance he pulled out his father's wand and concentrated firmly on the halted and shaking figure of his uncle, who offered him more than anyone, who shared him the pain and the torment, all his life... And lifted the wand and said calmly, but firmly.

"_Expecto patronum!_" and his Patronus, the deer, his second father, his protector appeared in front of Harry, bowed his head to him and did a thing Harry was sure, a Patronus was NOT supposed to do: it not only drove them away, but it destroyed them and they faded and disappeared into thin air, and there weren't anymore anywhere. Nevermore.

Snape turned back, a strange expression on his face... Surprise and amazement... but it turned suddenly into an expression of terror: his eyes widened in obvious dread and his mouth opened, but no sound left it.

The time seemed to stop, or was it just too slow? Harry didn't know, but he could sense everything in a moment: Snape's horror, his disappearing Patronus, and the appearing Death Eaters around him and the one who pointed his wand to him directly.

Harry recognised him immediately.

Wormtail. Peter Pettigrew. The traitor. The murderer of his parents. The murderer of Bertha Jorkins and Cedric Diggory. The pitiful and disgusting servant of the Dark Lord.

The one who owed the debt of his life to Harry.

But the one who, seemingly, didn't care about it.

"_Avada Kedavra_," he said simply. A familiar green light erupted from his wand, and came closer and closer.

Harry couldn't move. He knew, he had no time left. He was aware that only his mind sensed the time to be so slow, his body was in the other world, in the normal world and he couldn't be fast enough to move away.

He just stared at the green light.

So, this is the end.

Like his mother's end.

Like his father's end.

Like James Potter's end.

Voldemort achieved his aim. He would be dead.

He wasn't afraid now. He wasn't struggling against it. He accepted it: this was his doom.

Quietus's offspring had to face death to live.

Harry didn't know what this sentence meant. But he was now facing death.

Only his heart was aching. Severus... Severus would be totally broken and hopeless.

The pain bit him. His cast his last glance to Severus.

"I'm sorry" he whispered and the green lightening hit him.

Everything turned dark. For ever.

***************************************************************************

Snape couldn't believe his eyes.

The dementors were defeated by Harry's Patronus. Harry's... Harry!

He suddenly realised that he, again, left the boy behind. He turned back, a reassuring expression on his face.

But just behind Harry... the whole inner circle was standing. Voldemort in the middle, and next to him Pettigrew, pointing at Harry with his wand--

Green light.

The killing curse.

No.

Harry would die.

No.

The green lightening reached Harry.

No!

The boy hit the ground.

NO!

His body was motionless.

Harry WAS dead.

Harry was DEAD.

HARRY was dead.

"HARRY! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! _STUPEFY!_" he screamed painfully, pointing their home-made wand to the circle as he run towards the kid.

The Death Eaters disappeared from his sight as they fell back, but Snape didn't care. He could only see Harry.

His heart was ripped in two. His body was aching. Everything was aching. His life was aching.

He failed.

It was HIS fault.

He left the boy again.

As he reached the lifeless body, he fell on his knees. He hugged Harry as cautiously as he could and lifted the body from the ground into his arms and stood up. For a while, he was just standing there, with the boy in his arms. The boy was so unbelievably light, like a feather, he thought as he began to walk tottering slowly towards the forest. He couldn't care about the Death Eaters. Perhaps he hoped they would kill him too, but nobody tried to stop him, nobody cast a spell after him, as he proceeded ahead.

It was just too familiar. The whole walking process. The boy in his arms. The dead boy. Quietus's son.

Dead as Quietus.

And he was carrying him away from this damned place, helplessly.

As he walked he felt the body get heavier and heavier... like every dead body. Or was it only he who was so weak?

Quietus was heavier, he thought suddenly. –But he had been older then, he had been an adult.

Adult? They had been bloody stupid kids, both of them... Quietus hadn't been even twenty!

But Harry was much younger. Only a child. A child!

He embraced him tightly to his chest.

He couldn't cry. He couldn't cry THEN either. He wanted - but he couldn't.

Every feeling was ripped from his heart. There was only a cold, numb space.

"I'm sorry, Quietus. I'm sorry, Harry, I'm sorry," he repeated countless times, like a mantra, until he reached the forest. Then he took Quietus's wand from Harry's weakened grasp and tightened his fist around the smooth wood.

The next moment, they were in the Forbidden Forest, in the Apparition Point.

Snape couldn't take any more steps. He fell to the ground, still embracing Harry's body and curled protectively around the dead boy as he could defend him with his own body...

"I never want to wake up..." were his last words.

***************************************************************************


	14. Investigations

Betaed by Lliey Gemini

Revised: 11-01-04

***************************************************************************

Chapter 14 - Investigations 

***************************************************************************

It was the strong light, which woke him.

There was unthinkable brightness in the room: white, yellow, orange and gold rays and lines all over him. And smells and scents, one was of the fresh-mowed lawn, the other simply of the sun-warmed air... And sounds. Birds' chirp, rustle of leaves, the sound of the waving water from afar and other voices of the nature. The signs of joy of life overwhelmed him: it was a beautiful summer day.

He felt the fresh line surrounding him: the sheet, the pillow and the light blanket, fresh, warm and soft, embracing him, calling him to sleep, to dream, as if they were protecting him from awakening. But he wasn't sleepy and tired any more, he felt fresh and a little bit hungry. It was not a miracle, he hadn't eaten for...

For two weeks.

Oh, God, for two weeks.

Nightmare Manor.

Voldemort.

Harry.

It was a short way to end here. At Harry.

He sat up, terror on his face. The sunlight caressed his back smoothly, and his blanket was almost bright blue in the shining light. First he couldn't see anything, as he was blinded by the light. The picture of the room became focused in front of his sight just slowly. Then he recognised. He was in the Infirmary, in Hogwarts, safe.

Feeling a lump in his throat he cautiously turned his head first right, then left to check the other beds inside the room, if there was somebody else, hoping that he would see a familiar, thin figure lying in a bed, next to him under a light blanket sleeping... but he was alone. Just he and the bright light, nothing else.

So it was true. Harry didn't need to be here, not any more. It meant the worst of his nightmares. The images of the previous evening gradually entered his mind: the crumbling corridor, his lab, the wet tunnel, the hallways and rooms they crossed (TOGETHER), the pool, the forest, the dementors, the Patronus and finally - Harry as he stood in front of the Inner Circle just waiting for them, and completely aware without fear of what would happen next to him, then died. The green light hit him and he collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

Snape couldn't remember how he managed to get here, what happened after Harry's collapsing. There was something... as if he  had been lying in the Apparition Point of the Forbidden Forest, with Harry in his arms. But... Harry had already been killed then. And he had wanted to die alongside him. Seemingly, he hadn't died, at least not yet.

Oh, damn, it had to be Albus... Why hadn't he let him die right there? He hadn't wanted to return again with a dead boy in his arms, like fifteen or more years ago, to begin everything from the first step: to re-build his life again. No, not anymore. He was just too old to do it.

He got out of bed, slipped into the pair of slippers next to it, and stretched himself. He realised that he was wearing a long, white nightshirt, and his lips curled with disgust. He - wearing white... It was unnerving. But after a moment, he shrugged and turned to his destination: to a tiny room right next to Poppy's office. It was rarely used, the last occasion was nearly five years ago, just before Harry began his studies here... Oh, and last year too, of course…

He opened its door slowly but panicked, not daring to face the sight inside it. Finally, he decided, took a deep breath and entered the room. The Mortuary.

It was not a dark place, it was just as bright and full of sunlight as the main room of the Infirmary itself. The orange, yellow and gold rays were snooping around everywhere even here, the place of death, one of them shining directly around the small body lying on the catafalque, so calmly as if he was just sleeping. Snape stepped closer cautiously. The boy was smiling slightly in his death. He didn't notice it the day before, when he dragged Harry with himself as far away that damned place as he could... He was smiling, he accepted his fate smiling, smiling at... what? At the cheated world, which now lost his saviour who had never wanted this role on the first place? At Voldemort who had failed to break him? At him, who had betrayed him by leaving him behind...?

He took another step closer.

Harry. Quietus's son. The last - and now lost - hope of the Snape family, and, how ironic, of the Potter family too. His dead brother's dead son.

He failed.

He took the last step and now he was standing next to the bier. Harry was still wearing Snape's transformed clothes that he cut with scissors in a hurry: his black clothes, covered now by mud, dust and blood where the old, oozing bruises and injuries wetted it during the long escape. He fell to his knees in pain. Those injuries Harry got when they were together yet. Together... And the boy had been next to him, sometimes had even been cuddled to him, and they had been talking about important and unimportant things, events, persons... 

They had been together and they had been alive.

They had been in pain, they had been tormented, they had been maltreated and starved, but they had been together, and at the first time in his damned life he had felt somebody close to him not only physically and now... and now it passed away like a dream, and his heart hurt and the thoughts were whirling in his head.

'_We fly away..._'

He reached cautiously and took one cold hand in his hand, cold as the ice around his soul, his heart, he caressed it and leaned his forehead to it shutting his eyes tightly.

It was just one day ago, or less, when this hand had touched him, when these arms had hugged him shyly, when the now closed eyes had been bright and full of life and hope... Harry, Quietus's son, his nephew to whom he had promised to be a parent, to be there for him always, and he had simply been left him behind and had been killed mercilessly.

Why him? Why hadn't been him to be killed, him, Severus Snape, the double-agent, the untrustworthy, mean git? Why should he be left behind?

Was it his punishment for his sins?

Wasn't the time he had spent in that pit of death enough?

Why should he suffer? Why had one bad decision caused so much pain and suffering?

Why hadn't he been able to sacrifice himself for the boy?

Questions, which would never be answered.

A desperate sob tried to find his way out of his soul, but he couldn't cry. His eyes were dry, his face emotionless, although his emotions were suffocating him inside. But he just grasped the ice-cold hand harder. If only they had another chance... he would do everything for him. He would be a parent, if Harry wanted. He would give him the family as he promised - he thought it seriously THEN too, not just NOW, but now, he desperately wanted to show the boy, or any listening god that he was willing, that he really, truly, seriously was ready to do it.

He would do anything for the boy. He would give him his life if it helped him back to life. He... he had failed him. He hadn't been able to do the thing that all of his parents could do for him: he couldn't die for the boy, instead, it had been Harry who died. Harry. His soul screamed, begged and grieved. His face, however, remained emotionless.

The sunlight formed a halo around Harry's head, the raven-black hair was shining, as if it would be white with red undertones... But the pallor of the face betrayed the bitter and painful reality...

He caressed the pale face softly, and ruffled the unruly hair. He was gone. Gone forever.

He, too wanted to follow him. To be gone just like him.

Suddenly, Harry's previous words stole themselves into his mind. '_I want to ask you, in case anything would happen to me, promise me that you won't do anything silly. You won't blame yourself..._'

Harry had known it.

Damn it! Harry had known it. How?

And why hadn't he warned him? They could have avoided it!

Or not. The silly, stupid idea of what 'would have happened if'... No. Harry had died. He was alone again, but this time, he knew precisely that he had lost. When he had been alone previously, he hadn't missed the company as badly as now, now as he knew what meant to share life with someone who cared, who loved...

"Severus..."

He lifted his head from the cold hand and turned towards the door.

"Albus..." he wasn't able to say anything more. He just now realised that he was shaking.

The Headmaster stepped next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, Severus. You need some more rest... There are hard things behind you, and many hard things are still waiting for you."

Snape sighed.

"I want to stay here..."

"You can't. Don't torment yourself..."

"It's not a torment, Albus," he shook his head. "I just... I just can't leave him. Not now."

"You will have a day to say goodbye to him, Severus. But in some hours, the Minister will come to take your testimony..."

"It won't be a simple questioning. They will question me as ruthlessly as they always do, Albus."

"I don't think..."

"You will see it," Snape turned his glance to Harry again. "I don't want it... Not today."

"It has to be done."

"I know."

"They want to examine Harry as well," the Headmaster whispered.

Snape shuddered hearing these words. Examine! Throwing spells to the dead body to check its identity, if it was really Harry Potter. They would strip the body to see all his injuries and bruises Harry had never intended to show anybody, Snape was sure about it.

And they would force him too to strip and show his injuries as a proof to add to his files - very immense amount of files, more than 3500 pages, Dumbledore had told him once - together with his confession and evidence, naturally under Veritaserum... Oh, no, not again. They would put him into Azkaban again because they needed a scapegoat to blame of the death of the famous Harry Potter...

Azkaban, where he would be forced to re-live Harry's and Quietus's deaths again and again, countless times for years and decades until his own death, no… No. He would rather return to the Dark Lord's torture chambers to forgive and forget...

"Albus, please, don't let me be thrown to Azkaban," he whispered weakly. "Not even for a day, please..."

"Calm down, Severus. I won't allow them to bring you away from Hogwarts, I promise."

Snape shut his eyes.

"Thank you, Albus..."

The old man helped him to his feet, and slowly, helped him back to bed.

"Try to have some more sleep. You have to give evidence about Harry's death this evening for them, and I want you to be recovered and ready to do it."

He handed a glass to his colleague.

"Dreamless Sleep Potion for three hours. Drink it."

Snape nodded and poured its content into his throat.

He was already in the bed and the blanket was wrapped tightly around him as he reacted to the Headmaster's previous words.

"I'll never be recovered."

Dumbledore looked at the lying man and guilt was written on his face.

"I'm sorry, Severus," he whispered, though the Potions Master didn't know what Dumbledore was sorry about precisely.

***************************************************************************

Three hours and a light meal later, Snape tried to get dressed. Winky, a house-elf brought some clothes from his wardrobe from the dungeons and he was a little comforted by putting his old robes on, however, he didn't know why. To keep up appearances? Well, that would be the best thing: to act in the way he had always used to.

Getting dressed wasn't such a simple thing, he realised after putting on his trousers. He was never fat, but now, he felt his own clothes just too big and oversized for him, and he needed to ask the house-elf for a belt to keep the trousers on. Under the usual black cloak, he put on only a simple, black shirt to avoid a long stripping show in front of the Ministry's representatives. Then he realised he wasn't able to button it up and he lost another fight with the shoelaces, because his hands refused to fulfil as precise movement as it was needed in their present states, so he called Winky to help him. First, he wanted to try a spell (with Quietus's wand, which was again reluctant to obey his orders), but he couldn't remember any spell for buttoning or fixing shoelaces, so finally, he gave up and the waiting house-elf did it in no time.

It was absolutely embarrassing, almost humiliating.

In the end, though, he was ready to go to Dumbledore's office where the Aurors probably had been already waiting for him. Aurors, yes, he was sure there would be at least five of them, and he would be extremely lucky, if he could avoid answering questions about his feelings and emotions... That was the worst part of every questioning: when he was interrogated about his emotions and was ridiculed after it...

Oh, how he hated Longbottom for it! His favourite game!

Luckily the damned Auror was in St. Mungo's waiting silently for his end, not asking questions and enjoying the others' torments... not again and never again.

He tried to move in the familiar hallways of the school the same way  he had always done, but he simply couldn't. His movement wasn't predatory and silent, it was more than a little bit dizzy and tottering instead, so he made his way slowly towards the office, from time to time stopped leaning against the wall breathing heavily.

When he finally found himself standing in front of the gargoyle, which guarded Dumbledore's office, he realised that he didn't know the password. Oh, no. He really didn't want to stand here for endless minutes and enumerating all the sweets and cookies he knew… He was relieved when McGonagall's voice sounded from behind him.

"Can I help you, Severus?" she asked calmly, and Snape stepped away from the statue.

"I would be very grateful for it, Minerva," he bowed towards the professor who smiled at him sadly.

"Harry Potter," the Head of the Gryffindor House whispered to the gargoyle, which moved away from their way letting them in.

Snape lowered his head. Well, it was unexpected, but he was pleased by it nevertheless. They stopped on the bottom of the spiral staircase for a moment.

"Are you all right, Severus?" the Transfigurations' professor sounded concerned.

Snape opened his mouth to give her the usual answer, but as he lifted his eyes and caught the concerned look in his colleague's eyes and he changed his mind.

"No, Minerva. I'm not and... I don't feel ready for this... incoming interrogation."

McGonagall put her hand on Snape's shoulder reassuringly.

"Albus claimed the right to question you as a certified Auror, member of the Wizengamot and the Headmaster of this school, and the Ministry gave him the permission. He won't ask you anything, which could hurt you."

An immense amount of relief washed away the Potions Master's tension.

"Thank you, Minerva," he smiled shyly and the professor nodded in return.

"You're welcome, Severus."

His relief disappeared in the moment he entered the Headmaster's office. There were just too many people in the room. The minister, Fudge, the idiot, two Aurors in their usual uniform, Arcus Patil, the official clerk of the Ministry, and two unfamiliar people who left just after Snape entered. So they came to identify the dead boy... The Ministry Identifiers…

"Please, sit down, Severus," Dumbledore waved his hand towards a chair. "Minister?" he turned to the apparently nervous man, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he caught sight of the tall, dark man entering the room.

"Look, Dumbledore... you are allowed to question him, but you have to ask him the questions I wrote down to you too..." when the Headmaster nodded, he went on. "But first, I want to see the... physical proof..."

"I already gave you Mrs Alicia Pomfrey's written testimony about Severus's injuries, and I don't think it's necessary to examine him in such a way..."

"It's all right, Albus," the Potions Master interrupted him. "I was prepared for it."

He stood up, and before the Headmaster could open his mouth, he turned around, took off the cloak, laid it on the arm of the chair and pulled off the buttoned shirt without unbuttoning it. He didn't lift his glance, he just stood there with eyes fixed to the floor and old memories entered violently into his mind. Old memories of similar events… He was almost waiting for the teasing laugh behind his back.

"I hope it's enough," he frowned after a while and seeing the minister's surprised face he added. "Your Aurors, minister, generally are not satisfied with such a short show," his voice was icy and sharp and shot a glance towards the Aurors who tried to avoid it in embarrassment. Patil, however, stood up to examine the bruises thoroughly. Snape wanted to disappear in shame.

"Your hands, please," Patil said politely after he finished checking his body. The frown deepened in the Severus's  face.

"So you read Poppy's testimony…" he added, but let the clerk to examine them neverhteless. The usually pale and elegant fingers were red and swollen to Severus's dismay, and Patil nodded. 

"Madame Pomfrey did a good job with them, Severus. I think they will be fine in some weeks..."

The kind tone surprised Snape, and he stared questioningly at the calm man in front of him.

There was a short silence, until the minister said:

"You can get dressed."

When Snape sat back to the chair, Dumbledore stood up, went round his desk and stood face to face with Snape, with a tiny vial in his hand.

"I hope, it's not mine, Albus... " Snape sneered in a hostile manner. "I don't want to repeat this procedure again just because they suspect me to cheat them..."

"No, Severus," the Headmaster shook his head. "Mr Patil brought it to us. It was brewed by Mr McCann, the Ministry's official Potions Master. Is it all right for you?"

"Of course," he rolled his eyes. "Perfectly. Although I nearly forgot its taste... The old McCann and his potions…" He sneered again.

"Severus, please!" Dumbledore said impatiently.

"All right then," Snape sighed, but inside, he felt extremely nervous. The whole situation was humiliating, but the Headmaster, naturally, wasn't aware of it, as he was never in any situation like that, and certainly was never forced to answer questions under Veritaserum. And now, he was totally innocent at that, but he had to undergo this persecution as if he was guilty or suspected. Oh, how he hated all this! But he opened his mouth obediently (the questioned person wasn't allowed to touch the potion) and for an instance he remembered, when he had threatened Harry in the class to pour Veritaserum into his usual pumpkin juice, and shuddered. He had been such a bloody bastard... And now it was really too late to regret.

He closed his eyes. In fact he didn't intend to open them during the whole procedure. It was somehow easier to hold on.

The cool potion slipped into his throat and he didn't have to wait too much until he felt the familiar feeling: as a strong hand grasped his mind painfully forcing  him to face his faults and sins, and he wasn't able to escape from the attacking guilt in these times.

"Bind him," he heard the Minister's voice. "I don't want him to assault somebody..."

The disgusting git... As if he didn't know that a questioned person became violent, only if he was pressed to answer really personal and touchy questions.

'_How many times did you sleep with a girl? Who? Did you enjoy it? How did you do it precisely? Why? Did you wash yourself before it? And after? Did Miss Black cry your name when..._' NO! He suddenly remembered how he had fought against the serum, how he had tried desperately to keep his mouth closed, to clench his teeth tightly but it had been a lost battle from the very beginning, and Longbottom had been laughing at his trying to get free, to escape... No. He didn't want to attack anybody. He just wanted to hide and die in shame...

"No, Minister. I don't think that's necessary." Dumbledore's voice drove him out of his sudden flashback.

"Bind him. It's not a request. It's an order. My personal security..."

"Do it, Albus," he heard his own voice. "Give him a little more pleasure to humiliate another person... not a human being though, just a Death Eater..."

"Severus! You are NOT arrested or suspected, so he can't ask me to bind you." The Headmaster sounded genuinely angry.

"I claim that, or I will have him questioned in the Ministry..."

"Do it, Albus and let's get over with it," Snape hissed angrily. "I don't mind. I just want it to be over." He resisted to open his eyes, but turned his head to Patil.

"Arcus, please, do it. I don't want to sit here until tomorrow," he sneered again, even though his voice lacked the usual malice.

"All right, Severus. _Lego_!" Patil's soft voice answered.

Snape felt his arms and legs become fixed to the chair and he tried not to shudder. He heard McGonagall's surprised intake from the opposite corner, where she was standing, but he mentally shrugged. If they knew...

"What's your name?" Oh, so it began.

"Severus Nobilus Snape." His voice was cold and flat.

"Are you a Death Eater?"

No, Albus, it wasn't a good question. His body tensed and his spine arched in pain. He was simply not able to answer it. Yes, he was a Death Eater technically, the dark mark was undoubtedly burned into the flesh of his left forearm forever, but he wasn't yet a loyal servant of Voldemort, so he wasn't a Death Eater any more.

"Are you a loyal Death Eater?" Dumbledore changed the question as he saw the painful expression in Snape's face.

"No. I left Voldemort sixteen years ago and turned to spy on him for you." As the serum began to rule over him totally, he wasn't able to put a hint of sarcasm into his voice no matter how he tried it. To his satisfaction, he could hear Fudge hissing, as he heard the name of Voldemort mentioned without the usual fear, and decided to mention the name as frequently as it was possible.

"What happened two weeks ago?"

"On the 17th of July I was summoned by Voldemort, " he used the name just to annoy the stupid moron. "I had to participate in the torture of Harold James Potter who was caught by some loyal servants of Voldemort on that day." Oh, that was good. He heard Fudge's annoyed cringing to every mention of THE name.

"Why didn't you return to Hogwarts after the torture session finished?"

"Because I tried to save Harry's life and Voldemort decided to subject us to a longer torture in Nightmare Manor. Voldemort put us together, and we were tortured in various ways for two weeks. We were in the dungeons of the manor, caught, so I couldn't return to report you about it." Two times to shock the idiot.

"Did Potter die in one of those torture session?"

"No. He died when we tried to escape. A Death Eater, called Peter Pettigrew, cast the Killing Curse on him. I couldn't save him. He died in front of me. Then I took him and returned to Hogwarts."

"Did you hurt him in these two weeks?"

"Yes, I hurt him at the first day's session. I needed time to save him, and I decided to participate in the cursing."

"Did you use any Unforgivables?"

"No."

"Later did you hurt him?"

"No."

Dumbledore cast a glance to the paper lying on his desk.

"Did Potter show any sign of being incompetent?"

However hard Snape decided to keep his eyes shut now they swung open in shock.

"What? Incompetent? No, of course not. He was in an excellent mental state all the time." His voice didn't show his shock, the flat tone was a usual side effect of the serum.

"Did he mention anything about Cedric Diggory's death?"

"Yes, he did. He said that Cedric Diggory was killed by the same Death Eater, Peter Pettigrew, which I mentioned earlier, for Voldemort's request."

"Did he show any signs of being attracted by Dark Arts?"

"No, not at all. Quite the opposite. He resisted Voldemort's temptations whenever he tried to turn the boy to himself several times."

Dumbledore nodded and turned to the pretty annoyed Fudge.

"I think it's enough, Minister," he said matter-of-factly. "I don't intend to ask any more questions from Mr Snape. You've heard his testimony. He answered all of the questions we asked."

"But... there were gaps in his story..."

"Of course, there were many gaps, Minister. But I think what we heard is enough. I don't want to sit here until tomorrow listening to every little detail of their captivity, which are not important for us to clarify the circumstances of the death of Harold James Potter, and, as you heard, Mr Snape is perfectly innocent of his death. I don't agree with you to ask him any more questions about his or Harry Potter's humiliation or other things too personal to be answered under the effect of the serum. Mr Snape here is not suspected, he is a witness and we have no right to continue his questioning."

"Dumbledore is right, sir," Patil stood up calmly. "He didn't commit any sins so we don't have the right to ask him any personal question until he is not free to answer them willingly."

Fudge became livid.

"Are you defending a Death Eater?"

"An ex-Death Eater, Minister, who was acquitted by the Wizengamot fifteen years ago."

A sudden knocking interrupted the quarrel.

"Come in!" said Dumbledore. The two Identifiers entered the room.

"We've done it Minister."

"Yes?" asked Fudge impatiently.

"We established officially that the dead boy is certainly the son of Lily Evans and James Potter, born in Hogsmeade in 31st of July, 1980, died in the 31st of July, 1995. Here is the permission for the funeral," he handed a document to the Headmaster. "You have to bury him in two days. We cast a conserving spell on him so that no limbs of his body can be removed and used for illegal purposes. His thumb will be sealed by the Ministry and guarded officially for the next two weeks until the potential magical abilities wears off from the corpse."

The cold, heartless speech hurt Snape. Corpse! They were speaking about Harry! Not about someTHING that could be used for 'illegal purposes'! He jerked but he still was bond to the chair.

"Right," Dumbledore nodded. "Then, I think we've finished."

He motioned the group towards the door and in the next moment Snape found himself alone in the office, bound to the chair, unable to move. Damn it! Dumbledore got old... but he would return in no time, hopefully. At least he was alone, the Ministry's representatives were gone.

He shut his eyes again, and Harry's face appeared in his mind again, as he sat next to him, waiting for his reassuring, accepting words... At least, he hadn't denied those words from the kid. At least, he had died knowing that Snape had accepted him and cared for him...

An angry voice interrupted his thoughts.

"So, you're happy now, aren't you?" a bitter voice attacked him cruelly.

Snape opened his eyes and all his body tensed in an instant. Before him, stood Black, hatred and sadness mixed on his face. Snape struggled to stand up to face him, but the magical bounds fixed him to the chair strongly. Damn it! Black's mouth curled into a cruel smile.

"I'm not happy, Black. Not at all," the Potions Master answered the question with clenched teeth. 'The liquid Imperius' as someone once called the Veritaserum. Yes, it was. The Ministry, however, not surprisingly, didn't find its use unforgivable. The Light versioned Imperius, to rule over everybody, who took it.

"Perhaps you don't like your present situation and it upsets you, doesn't it, greasy Sly? You bound, and me free?"

Harry hadn't been right about Black. The dirty dog was a cruel and brutal bastard, nothing more, and he had to answer again.

"Yes, I hate you and I hate this situation Black, but I'm not upset because of it." He began to sweat in the helpless fight as he made efforts to keep his mouth shut. In vain. The serum was just too strong.

"Really?" The merciless smile widened on his archenemy's face. "Why? Your dream is fulfilled. Harry is dead, no more Potter exists in the world. Remus is dying, the Healers think he won't live through the night," when Black began to yell exasperated, Snape suddenly caught the sight of pain on the loathed face. "The Ministry is after me. Peter has betrayed us. And you are NOT happy! Why, Snappie, tell me! Is it not enough for you? I'm sorry, I won't kill myself in front of you just to satisfy your wishes!" By the end, Black was shouting at the top of his lungs.

Before answering, Snape thought that Black's behaviour was like as if he too took the serum. His every pain and fear now lay uncovered before him, and he felt pity for the man.

"I didn't want Harry to die," he answered calmly, without any more struggling against these words. "I tried to save him, but I've failed. And I'm sorry about Lupin..."

Black's eyes widened in total disbelief. Then he stepped closer and grabbed Snape's shoulder aggressively.

"What's on, git?" his tone was now menacing. "It's your new play to be the loving and caring Potions Master of Hogwarts?"

"Let my shoulder go, Black. I'm not joking. Didn't you realise that I'm forced to answer truthfully by that damned serum, and you're forcing me to slip out my feelings to you, stupid bastard?"

It sounded quite funny. To say 'stupid bastard' in a totally neutral tone... Black was taken aback.

"Oh, my God..." he whispered. "Oh, no... No... What a bloody idiot I am..."

He lifted his wand and pointed at Snape. He raised an eyebrow in surprise. Did Black want to kill him? He would make a favour for him by it, but... no.

"_Libero_," Black said and the magical ropes were gone. Snape, however, didn't move.

"So?" Black asked after some minutes. "What are you waiting for? Come on, punch me, idiot!" the animagus yelled at him nervously. Snape shook his head in amazement. He couldn't see Black's point.

"Why should I punch you?" Yes, he had plenty of reasons, but he was really curious about the dog's interpretation.

It was Black's turn to get amused.

"Because I attacked you and I took advantage on your situation, Snape. Certainly you've noticed that..." and the man turned his face away from him.

"The questions?" The Potions Master's voice was still calm.

"I didn't intend it... I just didn't take it into consideration, that the serum... Sorry."

"What...?" He certainly misunderstood the last word. He had to wash his ears. Or the tortures...

"I know what it means to... to be questioned. To be pressed to answer questions about things you don't want to think about, or are too personal for you... so I'm sorry, Snape. I was a stupid bastard as you said."

'_I think if once you decide to give him a chance... he will apologise..._" Harry's words echoed in his mind. Harry had been right. Harry had said it, and he had been right. The emotions flooded over him again, and he lowered his head and covered his face with his hands. Harry...

"What's the matter, Snape?" Black's voice was concerned now, but the ruddy dog didn't realise that Snape was still under the effects of the serum. He groaned, but answered the question nevertheless.

"Harry... Harry told me that you would apologise if I gave you the chance to do it... He was right... but he is dead..." he mumbled through his hands.

"You... you talked to him there?" Clear unbelief was in Black's voice. God, had he REALLY acted like such a git?

"Of course, idiot. We were in the same cell for two weeks."

"And how... what..."

Snape sneered.

"The serum can't work properly until you ask clear and direct questions..."

"Oh no..." Black realised the fact that he was asking Snape again. "I just..."

"You are a complete idiot, Black."

Black sighed, nodded and lifted his gaze to Snape.

"You like Harry," he said. It was not a question, Snape thought, Black was cautious about it. So he could answer it freely if he wanted. Snape was wondering a while.

So, what was he supposed to say? Yes, of course he liked Harry. Moreover, he had learned to love the boy while they had been together but... it was not Black's business, was it? Harry had died and...

Harry had died. And Black, too, loved the kid. He had lost Harry, just like Snape. He was grieving like him. All in all he had a certain right to know the answer.

And he could have asked it straight, but he didn't do that. He deserved to know. At least a part of it. A certain, not too personal part.

"Yes, I liked him. We came to terms when I saw him enduring the pain and the torments and I changed my mind towards him. He behaved like an adult. He was very strong. Black, I've never seen anybody to behave as bravely as he did. And... and he died in the last moment when the freedom was already so close..." he lowered his head as he said the last, silent words. "I couldn't save him, Black. It was my fault..."

"Er... I... I don't think so, Snape," Black muttered and blushed. "You were only in two against Voldemort's main forces."

"He saved me from the dementors and because of it he had no time to fight against the Death Eaters... it happened because of me..." Why did he tell all this to the damned dog? Why did he show him his weakness?

"Remus too saved me from the dementors that night... I couldn't fight against them and it was the reason he didn't notice the approaching werewolves, and now he's dying..." At least Black didn't take advantage on his weakness, indeed, he let him see his own frailty. Then Black sighed and added. "I think we've lost too much in this war, and this was just the beginning. And... we are on the same side, so... it's time to lay aside some things... er..."

Snape stared at Black.

"Do you think of a truce between us?"

"No," shook Black his head. "No truce. I offer peace."

There were some moments of deep silence and Black reached his hand offering a handshake. Snape looked at the outstretched hand and then at Black's face.

"Peace?" he asked seriously.

"Yes. Peace," Black answered firmly.

"All right then," he nodded in agreement and accepted Black's hand. "Sirius," he added.

"Severus," Black nodded in return. "And sorry for everything... for Quietus..."

Snape's hand trembled as he heard his brother's name from Black. He opened his mouth to make a sharp remark, but the opening door stopped him.

The Headmaster stepped in with a little, brown-haired girl. Black froze as he saw them.

"Albus... that means... Remus..." he stuttered in horror. "He hasn't died, has he?"

"No, Sirius. The girl just needs somebody to look after her, and she said that Remus appointed you of this task."

Snape let himself enjoy the sight of Black's clear shock and embarrassment.

"But... but I don't know how to do it..." Black shifted uncomfortably. Dumbledore released the girl's hand.

"We have another problem, Sirius, a more serious one. I don't know where you can stay while Remus recovers..."

"Will he recover soon?" Black's dull eyes filled with life. "You mean, that...?"

"Yes. Poppy said he would in some weeks. But until then, we have to find a place for you two... You're still running from the law, Sirius, as the Minister didn't seem to accept Severus's testimony neither in Harry's case..."

Harry... Harry again. Snape suddenly saw the boy's face when he had been defending Sirius... and he had snapped at him then... oh, he had been an idiot, not Black. If he had known they had no time for such stupid quarrels...

"They can stay at my manor, Albus," he wasn't sure why he said these words. Perhaps for Harry? Certainly, it would have been Harry's wish too if he had lived... "It's large enough. There will be room for everybody without seeing each other constantly..." he added when he noticed the Headmaster's surprised look.

"But you two..."

"It's over, Albus," Black sighed. Dumbledore stared at the Potions Master questioningly and he nodded.

"I can't believe it..." he said but Snape caught a hint of mocking in his tone.

"You have planned it, haven't you?" he asked crossing his arms over his chest. The Headmaster didn't answer, but a little smile appeared on his face. "I might have known... And what's her name?" he changed the subject suddenly.

"Er... Anne," Black answered instead of the girl, who was just standing and staring at them shyly.

"She certainly has a family name too, hasn't she?" Severus scowled at Black and turned to the girl. "What's your name?" he asked her in a teacher-like manner.

"Anne Black, sir," the little girl said obediently and the Potions Master felt the world whirling and crumbling around him.

"Oh, no..." Black's moaning echoed his own thoughts. "It can't be true."

***************************************************************************


	15. Say goodbye  and welcome?

Betaed by Lliey Gemini

Revised: 11-01-04 

***************************************************************************

**Chapter 15 - Say goodbye... and welcome**

***************************************************************************

Nothing lasts forever

But some things end too soon

Now those fields of fascination

Are just dull and empty rooms...

But, oh, that luck what did it show

Close the book,

now we will never know...

(Chris Rea)

***************************************************************************

The following day seemed a complete blur for Snape. Men and women came from all over the world, their masks of grief were just covering neutrality, curiosity, fear, and sometimes even joy and relief, and those official visits in the Mortuary...

"What can we do now?" was the most asked question.

"Surely, he wasn't so strong if a simple killing curse managed to kill him... Perhaps he wasn't our world's saviour..." was another popular opinion.

"I heard that You-Know-Who tortured him to death..." said the well-informed ones.

"He was tortured for two weeks..." added those who had relatives in the Ministry.

"My cousin works in the Ministry and he heard that Potter wanted to become the new Dark Lord and this was You-Know-Who's reason to kill him..." that was the top. Snape guessed that that was straight Fudge's opinion. Must to be added though, of course, that he, Severus Snape had been the one who had killed the boy. Well, in that case there was the question whether the Potions Master had done right to kill him or not.

There were so many sentences like these, without an end. After some hours, Snape gave up and retreated to his dungeons to be alone until night. The last night with Harry before the burial... His heart sank. He sat down in front of the fireplace and stared at the darkness for hours. After a while, Black came with that embarrassing little girl, and he fled from his own quarters and went wandering in the Forbidden Forest for more long hours. He so desperately wished to talk to Dumbledore, but the Headmaster was too busy with the burial's preparations that he had no time for him at all.

He wanted to call him into account about his and Harry's secret relationship, to ask for his reasons for keeping it in secret for fifteen years. But he had to wait. After the funeral... he would ask everything. He deserved some answers. Or moreover: he deserved to know every answer. He was not a spy anymore. He was free to know the hidden information now. It would not endanger the Order or the Light Side any more.

And yet... What if he was still undeserving for fighting for the Light Side? Was he really light? Before their common captivity with Harry, Snape had considered himself a cold-hearted bastard, who had changed sides just for a single selfish reason, unconvinced about the rightness of Dumbledore's and his followers' ideals. In reality, he had thought before that the most important fact of life had been power, and after his turning 'light' he had just tried to find this power in anything but dark magic... and he had even had success in it. But Harry made him realise other things. The first was his relationship with Quietus, the fact that his love for his brother had made him able to leave the Greatest Bastard once and for all. He had loved somebody more than the offered power. And his reason to turn hadn't been so selfish: it had been the hardest and roughest way that he had chosen spying over the simple effort to take a revenge on his own parents or on Voldemort.

But... did it mean that he was light? That he deserved to fight on the Light Side?

No.

Surely not. A simple deed couldn't be enough to turn him light. He was a dark offspring of a dark family, guilty of horrendous sins, undeserving of anyone's trust as he was undeserving of Harry's trust too - he had betrayed the kid by leaving him behind...

A sudden and strange voice interrupted his dark thoughts. Somebody near him was... howling? A werewolf? Snape got frightened for an instance then he pulled out the wand and pointed at the direction of the heard noise and waited. Nothing happened. Was somebody there at all? He sighed and decided to look around a little just to check if...

There was a little clearing in front of him. And there was Hagrid. Hagrid was there and his ugly dog, sitting behind a tree, leaning against its trunk and crying desperately. The half-giant wrapped his arms tightly around the immense hound, covered his face into its neck and cried, sobbed, howled in pain.

The first sincere act of grief Snape had seen for days. Seeing this, he just stood frozen at the opposite side of the clearing. Hagrid didn't seem to notice him. Snape knew that his colleague was quite a sentimental kind of person, who wasn't embarrassed to cry in front of a crowd either, and now the fact that he hid from everyone else showed the Potions Master that that he saw was much more than a simple act of sentimentalism. It was pain, deep as his own, sorrowful and exasperated as his own...

As he stood there, beholding the half-giant, he felt a certain kind of enviousness: he envied Hagrid for being able to cry, to break down, to let his feelings out in this way. He himself was longing for crying, for letting his tears running down his face until he could breath, think, live again... and now, he wouldn't, perhaps ever. It must have been his punishment. He would never find the peace he was looking for. He would never find redemption.

His heart was as hard as stone. He was dark. He belonged to darkness.

Harry, perhaps, could have saved him from that. But now, Harry was killed and he remained in the darkness in every existing sense of the damned word. And it hurt. It hurt more than the past days' curses, tortures, more than ten thousand Cruciatus and Tormenta together. It was alike to observe Harry's tortures impotently...

Harry's tortures... And after them he had lifted the boy's body and returned to the cell and Harry had woken up, he had always woken up, he had been extremely strong and full of life – had it been because of the amount of love, which had surrounded him by his parents' sacrifices? He didn't know, he didn't mind, what mattered was the fact that Harry had woken again and again...

Suddenly, he felt a scenting, wet nose at his face and heard a gentle voice from above.

"Are you all right, professor?"

He wanted to snap angrily back something unfriendly, when he realised that he was kneeling on the ground covering his face into his palms, shaking. It must have been that damned dog who led Hagrid to him.

"Leave me alone, Hagrid," he said finally as softly as he could. The he added, "Please."

Hagrid stood there yet for a moment, then he turned around and left.

Snape pulled himself together and stood up. He had to be strong at least until the following day's evening. Then, after the funeral he would have enough time to grieve, to break down or everything he wanted. Just one day to stand still. Just one day to be prepared, to show the world that he was still the person he used to be, nothing else mattered. Everybody knew that he had been with Potter in that hell, thanks to the Ministry's 'discretion'. Now, they all would search for signs in him to find out what had happened between the two of them precisely, and what the Bastard had done to them.

Dignity until the end. If he was able to endure and to preserve his dignity in front of Voldemort, he wouldn't fail in front of stupid and snooping idiots. No.

He wouldn't turn to a cooing baby, a raving lunatic or a broken-hearted hero. He would remain what, who he had always been: Severus Nobilus (_NOBILUS _for God's sake!) Snape, 1st ranked Potions Master, appointed professor of Hogwarts, the Head of the Slytherin House (yes, of course he would remain the head!), proud and menacing as always, the mean, greasy git, the constant loner.

He was wandering in the forest for long hours lost in thoughts, but when he finally returned to the school, he had to see that the crowd didn't diminished, but grew definitely instead, and in the Entrance Hall a large, familiar, red-headed group was standing, as if they were waiting just for him.

The Weasleys. Harry's friends.

They didn't talk much about them in their captivity, perhaps because Snape had always been telling stories, but he could hear in Harry's voice every time he had mentioned them how much he had cared for his friends, mostly for Ron Weasley and Miss Granger... More people, he was somehow compelled to say something. Why? He didn't feel himself ready for such a show, no, he wasn't ready, not at all!

In reality, he still couldn't stand the young Weasley, he was just too similar to Black. Sudden feelings and decisions, lots of self-pity, and complete lack of outstanding (or just _standing_) abilities... Okay, perhaps he was too hard in judging him, but he couldn't help it.

When they noticed the tall figure of the professor entering the hall, they turned silent.

Snape became angry as ten pairs of eyes were pointed to him, but he didn't say a word just nodded towards them a greeting, then headed to his dungeons. But before he turned his glance off from them, he suddenly felt uncomfortable. There was something in the Weasley's eyes, something akin utmost loathing, that hit him hard. The family had never liked him, none of their children and neither the parents, but this hatred was too sudden and seemed exaggerated.

He shrugged it off mentally, and went on his way, but he was relieved when he finally got out of the hall. He stopped for a moment, and inhaled deeply to get over the slight shock. He leaned against the wall and tried to overcome his physical and psychological tiredness. His body wasn't healed perfectly yet, his bones were aching, his scars burning, his fingers throbbing, his mind was confused and was longing for something, for somebody... somebody who cared. For Albus? Perhaps. But Albus had no time for him. Not yet.

In reality he wanted Harry. Just to be there, nothing else.

Harry.

After he would have to take a shower and change robes he would return to him in the Mortuary. He hoped that nobody else wanted to visit the dead boy in the night.

***************************************************************************

"Are you sure it's allowed for us to...?" Hermione asked in a trembling voice.

"I don't mind if it's allowed or not. He was my best friend. I want to see him for the last time in my life, and I don't mind what the Headmaster or my parents would say if they find out. I don't care! Can't you understand?" the last words sounded rather hysterical, but Ron really didn't care. He was trembling since he learned the terrifying news about Harry, when his father returned from his work from the Ministry a few hours ago...

And he just couldn't believe it.

Harry - dead?

How could it be real?

Harry couldn't be dead, could he? He had survived everything. He had survived the first-year encounter with Voldemort, the Chamber of Secrets, the dementors, many Quidditch accidents, the Triwizard Tournament, he survived his betrayal last year too, he shuddered to this thought, and so, he couldn't die. No. Simply he couldn't! He had always been the survivor, the Boy, who Had Always Lived.

Ron was determined to see Harry before... before the funeral. Before the soil would cover him totally, before he would say a final good-bye to the world.

His parents didn't agree with his idea, but he didn't care. He wanted to see Harry to make himself sure, To be able to handle this fact.

But... how? Why?

He dragged the self-shocked and protesting Hermione with him.

And they stopped in front of the door of the Mortuary, dreading the sight, which was actually waiting for them.

"I can't..." Hermione moaned suffering. "Ron, I don't want to see him dead. I don't want to believe it. No, please, no."

"We must, 'Mione... If we are looking for certainty, we have to see if it's true..."

"We will have no hope after that, Ron..." she somehow managed to utter, her throat was sp tight that she was barely able to breathe.

"I want to know for sure. I don't trust Dumbledore... or the Ministry. Not any more," Ron said as he thought about the things Percy had revealed for them in secret some days ago. His parents had behaved so strange… He didn't know if he should share that special information with Hermione or not. He inhaled deeply and opened the door slowly to avoid any noise-making.

"Ron..." he could hear his friend's voice pleading him, but he didn't pay attention, just entered the shady room. There were only two torches alight in the darkness and in the centre of the room was the catafalque and on it... There was Harry.

Definitely Harry. He couldn't mix him up with anybody else.

The sight shocked him so much that he had to take a deep breath. Harry, who had had no family and warmth in his life. Just him and Hermione... And they had been just idiot children...

Breathe, he ordered to himself.

Harry, of whom he had always been jealous.

Breathe!

Harry whom he had betrayed.

Breathe!

Harry whom he had never loved as strongly as he had merited...

Breathe.

Harry who had been just as a human being as anybody, including him.

Breathe.

Harry, about whom he had always believed to be high above everybody.

And was just human. Full of emotions. Full of intentions. Wishes. Pains. Weakness.

And now, he was dead.

Harry... Deep intakes again and again. His breathing became faster until the room began to swirl around him.

Harry had died. Now, a part of his life had ended. Abruptly and brutally. And he knew that nothing would be the same after it.

Harry had died. The war had begun. Childhood was ripped off from them, 

once and for all. He collapsed to the floor unconscious.

When Hermione heard the silent 'thump' from the room, she suspected that something went wrong inside. Regaining all her willpower she had inside, she entered the room bracing herself. She dared to shoot only a short glance towards the body lying on the bier, and stepped next to the crumbled body of Ron.

"Ron, Ron," she called him frightened, grasping his shoulder. "Wake up, Ron, please..."

But Ron didn't seen to wake up, and  Hermione became desperate. Ron needed help, but she didn't want to leave her friend behind _there_. When she checked him she found that he was still breathing, too fast, and his pulse was racing.

"Ron," she tried again and shook the unconscious body. "Wake up, Ron," but the last words were said in a half-panic.

She began to tremble. She was alone with her two friends, one of them lying dead, the other lying unconscious and she was suddenly forced to think and to act as an adult, but she couldn't. No, not now, not in these circumstances.

She felt hot tears running down her cheeks.

"Ron, please..." she muttered and when lifted her gaze, she added "Harry, please, anybody..."

And she began to sob desperately.

Harry had already died. What if Ron was going to die too?

She shook Ron again and again sobbing.

"Ron, Harry, please," her body was shaking violently. "Please, please..." She couldn't see any more, her tears hindered her vision, and the whole world became a big blur around her. Flickering torch-light, Harry's peaceful face and Ron's lifeless body... She began to sob aloud and the whole day's suppressed emotions broke out. Arthur Weasley's face as he had said simply: 'Harry is dead.' Ron's stubborn protest: 'It can't be true! Dad! Say you're just...' Her parents' shocked faces, the Weasleys' nervous glances (she suspected that they had kept something in secret, which they hadn't shared with her). And their way to Hogwarts, the short talk with the Headmaster... As everything would have happened with someone else and she had been just observing the events... until now.

She would run to her mother to cry but her parents had gone to fetch the Dursleys to the burial... and she had had to do something with the unconscious Ron... It was just too much.

And Harry was really dead. It was without a doubt.

She was kneeling next to Ron lowering her head shaking with every sob.

Suddenly, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Miss Granger?" a familiar voice asked. "What happened?"

"Ron... fainted..." she tried to press the words out of her narrow throat, but it was extremely hard. She could barely breathe. Her voice was hoarse, and she felt her tongue too slow to speak.

Then the owner of the familiar voice lifted Ron's body, and left the room, but she was just unable to get up, she sat on her knees staring at the space horrified. She could hear the previous voice talking with the school's nurse in hushed voices. Then the gentle hand again.

"Miss Granger... it would be better to get up and go to bed... You have to be strong tomorrow." 

She couldn't help but tremble harder hearing these words. Tomorrow - it would be a point of no return in her life: something would be ended forever and nothing would be the same after that again.

"Mum..." she mumbled crying. She suddenly wanted her mother back to cuddle to her and cry as she had used to when she had still been a little child... But her mother had left her in the hardest situation of her life. When these thoughts entered her mind, the cry became harder and she collapsed to the ground like Ron, the difference was that she was conscious, painfully so, however hard she struggled to lose her conscience, it would have been better.

Then somebody lifted her too, like he had done to Ron and she was carried out of that horrible room that she never wanted to see again. She pressed her face to the shoulder of the man carrying her, mumbling meaningless words and sentences. And she was laid on a bed, and somebody covered her with a blanket. She continued to cry soundlessly.

"I'd need a Dreamless Sleep potion, Poppy," the familiar voice said.

"Just a minute, Severus," the nurse sighed. "I'm almost finished fixing the young Weasley's state."

"Was it the shock?"

"Yes, he was hyperventilating. In reality, he shouldn't have visited the Mortuary in the middle of the night..."

"Harry was his best friend. He wanted to see him, for the last time in his life, Poppy," the Potions Master answered in an unfamiliar friendly tone and wiped Hermione's face with a handkerchief.

"It's lucky you went there too..."

"Yeah..." it was just a whisper.

"And Miss Granger? What's the matter with her?" Madame Pomfrey asked.

"She is shocked too I think, though she managed to remain conscious. Do you feel better, Miss Granger?"

Hermione just nodded and stared at her professor incredulously. Why was Snape acting so out of character? It was too strange... But as soon as she could say a word again she turned her head towards the Potions professor.

"Sir, why did you come to the Mortuary tonight?" The question was barely audible, but Snape heard it perfectly. He turned his gaze to the girl's and said in a totally strange and distant voice: "For the same reason as Ronald Weasley. I wanted to say goodbye to Harry too..."

Harry... Snape _did _say Harry's first name twice... And he was so sad... was his unusual behaviour a result of the shock he felt about Harry's death? Dumbledore said that they had been together in the same cell for two weeks... Perhaps the rigid professor had some feelings inside as everyone else...

After some moment, Snape gave her a glass of potion to drink. Hermione did it obediently, and lay down to the bed. But before she would fall asleep, she mumbled softly.

"Thank you, professor..."

Snape smiled sadly and ran his hand through the girl's long hair.

"You're welcome. And good night."

***************************************************************************

The Ministry's efforts to keep the whole event secret from the muggles had been totally futile. The death of the famous Harry Potter had shocked the whole wizarding community all over the world, not only in England. And while at the occasion of the Quidditch World Cup, there had been enough time to make the proper arrangements for the arriving people, now there had been no time for it. People had started to arrive the day before the funeral and they had practically invaded Hogsmeade and even the nearby muggle villages and towns. Hogwarts, however, was allowed for the students and their family only.

It was totally different from his brother's funeral, Snape thought. Then there had been only a few people present: the professors, some schoolmates, some other friends - and a broken and sorrowful Lily Evans accompanied by a pale-faced James Potter, and nobody else.

Quietus had been born in silence, had lived in silence and had died in silence. And he had never been disappointed or bitter about it: Quietus had loved silence.

Just like Harry. The boy, however, had always been forced to live in the glare of publicity somehow (now Snape began to understand Dumbledore's decision of putting him to the Dursley's), judged by his scar and not by his mother's self-sacrifice... And he had never wanted anything but a quiet and still place to return; to belong, to be accepted, to be loved.

Too late.

Snape was sitting in the Mortuary next to Harry and only some minutes remained... And it would end...

"Severus, please for a moment," he heard suddenly Dumbledore's voice.

Damn it! Not now!

"What do you want, Albus?" he couldn't help but sneer. Inside, he felt completely frightened by the incoming events. "Why can't you leave me alone just..."

"Harry's family is here. They want to talk to you..."

Snape's sneer deepened. FAMILY? The Dursleys? Ridiculous. He jumped to his feet and stormed out of the Mortuary menacingly. The Dursleys. The family, which had made Harry's life a hell , more than he had done with those Potions classes.

But the moment his glance met with Petunia Dursley's, he stopped shocked.

"You?" he asked tentatively.

"YOU!" the woman cried in return. 

Vernon suddenly went extremely pale and Dudley, seeing his father's unfamiliar attitude and the tall, dark and menacing man, tried to hide behind his back. In vane.

Snape crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yes, I am," he barked coldly.

"Do you know each other?" Dumbledore was surprised. "How?"

"This... man was one of the attackers of my family," Petunia pointed her head towards the menacing figure.

"I was not an attacker. I saved your sister's life," the Potions Master replied angrily.

"Indeed," Petunia's face went red. "And you left there three killed men and my sister shelf-shocked because of YOU! Why was she so upset if you really SAVED her? Perhaps she wanted to die, didn't she?"

Snape scowled.

"The reasons of her bad mood are none of your business..."

"You are the main reason I hate the kind of... yours, freaks," the woman spat angrily the last word. "Your kind slaughtered my parents. You were one of them. A murderer."

"I killed those three men in defence..." Snape began, but he was interrupted.

"So, you KILLED them! It's not a surprise Lily didn't want to see your kind again... It was a pity that... that James Potter came and took her again, it was not a surprise that she died in the end!"

"How dare..." the Potions Master snapped angrily, but Petunia interrupted him again.

"The boy's death is your kind's fault too! If you had left him alone he would have been alive..."

"Yes! He would have been alive till now locked in a cupboard, despised and dejected!"

"Perhaps you are right, but he would been ALIVE unlike my stupid sister and her big-headed husband!"

"Existing and living are not the same things," Snape growled, his eyes were glaring madly. He was losing his temper. He wanted to go on, but Dumbledore's hand firmly grasped his arm.

"Severus, Mrs Dursley, please... This is not the place to deal with these things, and surely not this way," he turned his gaze to his colleague. "We all made mistakes and sins against Harry. None of us has the right to judge the other for his or her deeds..."

Dumbledore's words sounded soft, but hit the angry Potions Master hard. They reminded him of his faults, his treatment and behaviour. He lowered his head and gulped.

"Sorry, Albus. I shouldn't have yelled..."

When Mrs Dursley seemed to calm down, she shrugged.

"We brought his... belongings with us," she blurted out finally with a little hint of disgust in her voice. "We don't need them."

"Thank you," the headmaster nodded politely. "As to Harry's other vaults: I blocked his account in Gringotts."

When Dumbledore looked at Snape, he just shrugged.

"What do you want me to do, Albus? I don't need his money..."

To his surprise Mr Dursley muttered the same under his breath.

"All right then," Dumbledore sighed finally. "It will remain blocked until we decide about it..."

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He was suffocated when they lifted the little and fragile corpse into the coffin. He wanted to cry, to yell in pain, to wail, he wanted him back... His hands were trembling, his legs tottering as he went after Harry to accompany him to his last way... He could see the young Weasley and the Granger girl walking next to him, but he didn't care. He missed the Weasleys' hateful glares, Hermione's grateful and thankful gaze, he just put one leg after the other, feeling Dumbledore's silent support next to him.

Blur.

Pain.

PAIN! White-hot as if an overheated staff of iron had been pressed to his chest. Everything hurt, more than any physical pain ever could, more than a tenfold of Cruciatus, more than anything he had felt before.

But he kept walking... Dead man walking... He wasn't sentenced to death, but he felt like that. His life was not anything but a long agony towards its end. He was sentenced to live. How... disgusting.

He shook his head again and again.

And the grave... The Potters' grave: the same place where the old Potters had been buried, and later James and Lily, who indeed was Quietus's lover... And now, Harry SNAPE would be buried next to them... But the Potters deserved it.

Damn they deserved it!

But... Quietus would have deserved it too... He would have deserved his son to be buried next to him.

But Snape wasn't able to open his mouth to protest.

No. Harry considered himself Potter's son, he had learned the truth about Quietus and Lily Evans just a couple of hours before his death... Yes, the Potter's grave was the right place to lay him.

He felt guilty and betrayed in the same time. Whose fault was all this?

And then the whole process... Dumbledore's funeral oration, the Minister's long and boring speech... Then as the coffin sank into the pit and the first clods hit its top... He had to lean against the Headmaster, if he didn't want to collapse in front of the whole wizarding community. He, however, did it as discretely as he could, he saw that Black had noticed it.

The ruddy dog was standing in the other side of the grave (he was disguised by polyjuice) supported by Fletcher, and he didn't seem any better than him.

The Granger girl was shaking in utmost pain, the Weasley brat on the other hand seemed to be frozen and still under a hard shock. Snape hoped he wouldn't faint there again.

During the whole process Snape couldn't hear any voice or noise, he was totally deaf, but the sound of the clods hitting the coffin was too sharp and entered his paralysed mind causing more pain if it was possible...

When the earth finally covered the coffin and the guests began to leave, Snape left the Headmaster.

He left everybody. The strong and sudden urge to visit his brother's abandoned tomb shattered every other thought. So he went.

The grave stood there so alone... So VERY abandoned... Snape became ashamed. He just scarcely visited it, once a year, on the 2nd of December, to remember, to reinforce his decision to fight against the Dark Side... He needed it, he needed this kind of reinforcement in his lone life. It had given him power to stand firm, however much he hated the mere existing.

He collapsed to the ground, and was very grateful that nobody saw him.

He was just lying on his stomach there for endless hours covering his face with his hands, fighting for crying, for the relief of crying, but he couldn't cry...

WHY?

"Quietus, Quietus, forgive me, I've failed... It's my fault that your son has died. I should have cared more. I should have paid more attention. I should have loved more. I've failed...

Again and again.

And he didn't feel the usual relief and reinforcement. As if Quietus decided to leave him finally and perfectly. Had he just been waiting for his son? His fingers clenched the soil, scratched the ground, the stones in the immense pain. IT HURT!

Quietus had abandoned him. He was left alone, more than any other time. How was he supposed to continue his life after it? How could he wear the usual mask (was it really just a mask?) of indifference and hatred? He couldn't hate any more... He didn't hate Voldemort, he didn't hate Pettigrew, and he didn't hate Dumbledore either, no, not any more.

"Severus, it's time to return to the school..." Dumbledore's soft voice was calling after him in the evening darkness. "It's late. Everybody has gone."

The Headmaster helped him to his feet.

"Even Quietus left me, Albus," he muttered hoarsely. "Even he thinks I don't deserve to have a little peace..."

"Ssshhh, Severus, calm down..."

"I can't, Albus!" he yelled desperately. "I just can't! Until today, every time I visited Quietus I... I received a sort of reinforcement and power I was looking for... and peace, a weak and fragile peace, but I could find it here, but now..."

"You're just too exhausted mentally and emotionally, Severus. You will find your peace, believe me..."

"How can I believe you, Albus?"

They stopped. The Headmaster shot a surprised glance to his colleague.

"Why do you think I'm not worthy of your faith any more?"

Snape had already opened his mouth to yell the answer angrily to the older man's face, but he realised that anyone could hear them so he turned away and shrugged.

"I'll tell you as soon as we can talk more privately."

Uncomfortable silence fell between them.

"So, you know," Dumbledore sighed after a while.

Snape just nodded.

"How?"

"Albus," he sneered impatiently. "We had two weeks' time to talk. And we just... found it out."

"So... THIS was the reason of your caring for him." The Headmaster suddenly seemed sad.

"No, Albus," the Potions Master glared at him. "You are extremely wrong. If Harry hadn't been the boy  he was, I still would have cared for him. He... he was just a good kid, Albus. A good-hearted, loving and caring kid. I was so joyful when he said he was happy to be related to me..." He shook his head. Did it matter any more?

When they reached the Main Hall's gate, Dumbledore stopped and lifted his gaze to Snape.

"I'm sorry, Severus," he muttered.

"You cannot change the past by it, Albus," Snape replied bitterly and turned to the dungeons leaving the old man behind.

As he got into the familiar and luckily Black-free living room, he, again, lost his composure. He fell to his knees next to a chair, leaning his head on its arm.

This was the end.

The very end of it.

What could he do now?

He was kneeling there for long minutes when a quiet knocking broke the silence.

He didn't answer.

The door swung open behind him.

Only the Headmaster was impudent enough to break into his privacy.

"Leave me alone Albus. Please," he muffled from behind his palms.

"I'm not the Headmaster, Severus," it sounded a familiar, an ALL TOO FAMILIAR voice behind him.

He shuddered.

Fine! Nightmares without being asleep!

He just shook his head.

"No."

"Severus..."

"No."

"Sir..."

Now, the voice sounded from his side. He lifted his head from the arm of the chair slowly and cautiously.

Then he blinked.

And blinked again.

The vision didn't want to fade away. Next to him stood... no, it couldn't be true! There stood Harry. Alive. Or just looking alive?

"What's on, Potter? You decided to join the company of Moaning Myrtle, the Bloody Baron and Peeves for once? Or did you decide to haunt me instead?" he asked dryly.

"I'm alive, Severus. I haven't died," the boy's voice was calm, but his eyes were filled with tears. "I begged the Headmaster to let you know but he resisted..."

"It can't be true... I saw your body. You lay on the bier in the Mortuary. You were put into a coffin and you were buried, I saw it, every little piece of it, I SAW IT!" the man yelled desperately.

Then... the boy stepped closer and knelt next to Severus.

"I'm alive..."

Snape reached his hand to touch the kneeling figure's face. Slowly. Carefully. Hopefully.

His fingers sensed a solid body.

His palms sensed warmth. And wet: tears.

Tears were running down Harry's face.

"I'm alive, sir."

"Harry..."

THEN happened. As if a wall was crumbled down around him, built of bitterness, sadness, desperation and pain, he suddenly felt life... life again. He wrapped his arms tightly around the boy, he pressed him to his chest and for the first time in the last fifteen years he cried. Cried like only men could cry: he was shaking heavily and silently, his tears wetted the boy's head and shoulders and he just cried and cried for endless minutes...

And Harry embraced him in return, tightening his grasp of arms reassuringly.

"I'm alive, Severus. I'm alive."

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	16. I'll find my way home

Betaed by Lliey Gemini

Revised: 11-01-04 

***************************************************************************

**Chapter 16 - I'll find my way home**

***************************************************************************

It took long minutes for Severus to calm down.

"Harry..."

"Let's sit down on the sofa," Harry sighed finally. "It's a little bit more comfortable than the ground... I still don't feel too well..."

"But how could you survive... Pettigrew cast the Killing Curse on you..."

"Dumbledore said that it was because of his life debt... He couldn't kill me. He, of course, didn't know that. The Headmaster thinks that he really wanted to kill me, but something inside him stopped him to cast the curse with full strength, and I'd just fainted."

"I thought you had died."

"Yeah, I know... I asked the Headmaster to tell you I'm alive, but he always resisted and left me alone. I couldn't even go after him, I was so weak, and he had many things to do. He just came and tended my injuries, and left every time. I didn't have any time to talk to him, so now, we have to wait for him," said Harry. "I don't know the answers to your questions, and he said he would be here in an hour."

Snape nodded, grasped the arm of the chair, and stood up with difficulty. He felt dizzy but he reached for Harry to help him up too. They stumbled to the sofa and Snape collapsed onto it. He felt suddenly empty.

"I cannot believe that Albus did this to me..." he said staring unfocused at the fireplace. "I cannot believe it..."

Harry sat next to him.

"I'm sure he had his reasons to do it... And perhaps he didn't think it would be so hard on you considering the fact that you never seemed to be too fond of me..."

"You're probably right... But then again..." Snape was unable to compose himself.

Harry stared at his face worriedly. It should have been an immense shock for him. The fact that Snape had cried made his suspicions more serious. Yes, he had seen him in tears twice already in the last weeks: once when the professor had been haunted by a nightmare about Quietus's death, and the other time when Avery had first tortured Harry. Yes, Severus had been in tears then. But he hadn't really cried.

Snape - crying.

The flowing time which always turns the things of life upside down. Two months ago, he had truly disliked the sharp and acid Potions Master. And now - he felt his pain as it would be his own. And Snape had cried, had done the thing Harry was sure he hadn't done for years or decades...

"By the way, it's quite cold here," Harry shuddered abruptly. "I HATE dungeons..."

Snape's gaze turned focused in an instant. He drew forth Quietus's wand from his belt, with its first wave he ignited the wood in the fireplace, with the second summoned a blanket and with the third a steaming tea-set appeared on the coffee-table next to the sofa. He wrapped the blanket tightly around Harry and put a cup of hot tea into his hand.

"I'm sorry I was a little... distracted," he smiled weakly. "Feeling better now?"

"Definitely," smiled Harry in return. "And don't be sorry for your distraction. I would have done the same."

"But you are a child and I supposed to be an adult," the man closed his eyes in embarrassment. "I didn't want to disturb you with my feelings..."

"Severus, the past days were just too hard for you. It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

Snape nodded and Harry was amazed by the stern professor's obedient-like behaviour.

"And er... how are you? The injuries..." Snape finally sighed. Now it was Harry's turn to become embarrassed.

"Some of them are still aching... Mostly the deep ones in my... legs and tights," Harry gulped.

"Those cuts reached the bones, Harry. They will be painful for a while..."

"The Headmaster said the same when he healed them."

"And Fawkes...?"

"He isn't here. I don't know where he is, but I didn't see him. Otherwise, my injuries were half-healed when we got here and I'm not sure he heals bruises like them."

"I see... Anyway, I think you will have problems with those razor-cuttings."

"WHAT?" Harry seemed horrified. "What do you mean by problems?"

"Er... I hope I'm wrong but in some situations, they could cause pain... serious pain again. Situations, which are similar to that one."

Harry shuddered again and felt sick. He had to fight hard if he didn't want to retch.

When Snape realised his words' effect on the boy, he paled slightly and hastily added, "Although I can be easily wrong. I have no experiences in this field."

"And what about your bruises?" asked Harry suddenly.

"Considerably better. Poppy had to spend some time while she fixed my hands..."

Harry nodded. For some moments they sat silently.

"I'm glad that we managed to survive this all," Harry spoke up. "I would have never believed it. I was completely sure I would die there... But now... I can't say what I feel... like I had been given a second chance to live, to start everything from the very beginning."

"You don't need second chances. I, however, did that. And I received it too."

"Oh, the well-known speech about deserving again?" Harry nudged Snape's side and grinned. Snape grinned back.

"All right, all right I won't go on..."

"Thank goodness. I'm deadly bored of your self-reproach..."

"Potter!"

"Snape!"

"What?"

"I'm not a Potter, remember, uncle? And, if I remember correctly Harry Potter was buried a few hours ago..."

Snape's face darkened at the memories of the funeral, and the previous days' happenings invaded his mind. He didn't ever realised that he began to tremble again just Harry's movements snapped him out of his daze. The boy put the empty cup down on the table, wrapped his blanket around him too, as they had been in the cell, and folded him into his arms.

"We survived it, Severus. It's over. I'm alive. You're alive," he repeated softly these sentences again and again until Snape calmed down and stopped trembling.

"I think it was just... too much," the professor muttered finally. He lifted his eyes to Harry. "I really believed that you had died, Harry. You can't imagine how I felt... I... I saw you dying. It was... terrible. I wanted to die too... It was my fault..."

"Nothing was your fault, Severus. Nothing at all."

"I left you behind."

"But I survived. With your help. You brought me back to Hogwarts."

"It was just too similar to Quietus's death..." Snape whispered.

"But I'm alive."

"But you could have died."

"But I haven't," Harry said sharply. "Please, Severus. Stop it. You saved my life. Without you, I would have been killed at the first evening, or during the tortures. Without you, I would have given up my dignity, and even if I had managed to survive those tortures somehow I would be still homeless..." the last words were very low. And there was something else behind those words. Hope? Fear?

Snape freed an arm from Harry's hug and wrapped it around the boy's shoulder.

"I don't regret what I promised to you, Harry..." he began, but a sudden knocking interrupted him. "It should be the Headmaster. Come in," he sneered towards the door.

If a glare could have been murderous, the Headmaster certainly would have died right in the door. Snape's face was paler than usual, and Harry was wondering that he'd never seen him so furious, especially not with Dumbledore. But he could understand his feelings. The past two days had been a torture for Harry too, and even though he had known that both of them had survived the horrible adventure, he had missed Severus's company. He had had to stay alone in the darkness of the Headmaster's room all night, haunted by imagines and memories of the past days, dreaded of every shadow and noise coming from his surroundings, he couldn't really sleep either. The room had been comfortable, and, although the Headmaster had been really good in healing practices, he had no time to spend with Harry and he had missed an adult's company to help him through in this stage... If he had had to face even the fact that Severus had died, he had surely gone mad. Harry shuddered and tightened his embrace for an instance before releasing the man.

Dumbledore seemed to avoid the Potions Master's piercing glare, he sat down comfortably in the chair opposite of the sofa, then he lifted his gaze to the couple sitting in front of him, behind a common blanket, Snape's arm still on Harry's shoulder and he smiled.

Harry somehow calmed down seeing the smile of the Headmaster, Snape, on the contrary, became infuriated.

"I hope you enjoyed it!" he spat and wanted to cross his arms over his chest, but Harry's shoulder stopped him in this movement, so he just glared at the old man with his best Death Eater glare.

Dumbledore didn't get frightened by this show. His smile, however, faded away.

"I didn't enjoy it, Severus. Not a moment of it. But it was necessary. I'm sorry." His face became terribly serious.

"I don't think of only the past few days, Albus," Snape's voice was cold and sharp. "What about the past years? The past fifteen years? It was a big joke of yours, wasn't it?"

Harry was sure for a moment that Dumbledore would loose his temper, but somehow the old man remained calm and suddenly just seemed... sad. 

"I think you owe us an explanation," the Potions Master went on. "Not about the facts. We somehow managed to guess them. I'm rather interested in your motives to keep it all secret."

The whole conversation was so uncomfortable that Harry would be rather anywhere else than there. Yes, he was curious too, but the tone of the whole chat was so cold... it reminded him of a past Potions class or their first common day in Nightmare Manor. He didn't like this feeling at all.

"It was not my decision, Severus," the Headmaster sighed heavily. "By no means. I didn't agree with this but my situation was just like yours in a certain way..."

"Your point is?" the coldness didn't disappear from Snape's tone.

"I was forced by an oath to keep it in secret."

A little hint of understanding crossed Snape's face.

"Lily?" he asked cautiously.

Dumbledore just nodded in return.

"I was really relieved today when you said you've already solved this stupid riddle of hers," Harry was shocked by the clear anger on the Headmaster's face. "I don't know how I could tell you if you haven't found it already without breaking my oath... Luckily I got away with it."

"Well, Albus, then can we hear the whole story?" Snape leaned back into the sofa. Harry was relieved as the tension lessened a little.

"Of course," Dumbledore nodded. "You have the right to know it as you said, Severus... Let's see... The whole story began in your brother's fifth year. He and Lily were always friends, but they tried to keep their friendship secret. Quietus was worried about your and your parents' reaction and didn't want to endanger Lily. But as they grew closer they needed a plan to meet and be together inconspicuously. By that time James was one of Quietus's best friends and even though Sirius and Peter didn't like their relationship they accepted it because... in that time they were occupied with other things too..." the Headmaster smiled slightly. "Black was dating a Ravenclaw girl, Peter was struggling to obtain as many NEWTs as he could, because he wanted to work in the Ministry. That year was your last year, Severus. I think you didn't notice anything as you had your business too."

Snape didn't seem too happy hearing this remark.

"Yes, I was about to join Voldemort then," he barked darkly.

The Headmaster suddenly was taken aback.

"I thought of Anne Black, Severus," the old man said.

"In that time I didn't think of her too much," the self-disgust was clearly audible. Harry nudged him.

"Hey, Severus... Don't begin this again..." he mumbled to him and the Headmaster smiled slightly at Harry's words. Harry got embarrassed for a moment then he too smiled in return. "On with the story, Headmaster, please?"

"So... James and Lily pretended to date so that Lily could spend the holidays and some weekends at the Potters, mostly after James had graduated, so Quietus and Lily could meet there without emerging suspicions..." the Headmaster's voice became a little distant. "It would have been extremely hard for James, because he was in love with her too. However, I think he never told her this," he added silently.

"But when they got married he surely told her..." Harry looked pleadingly at the old man. The mere thought that his father... no, not his father, but yes, his father in a certain way as Severus had explained to him some days ago, so James Potter had been living with his mother without any mutuality of his feelings... He could feel his throat tighten.

"I don't know precisely what happened during their marriage but I don't think they were... close to each other in that sense which you think of, Harry. James respected your mother and did his best to comfort her after Quietus's death."

"It had to be very hard for him..." the boy whispered still under the effect of the previous idea.

Snape just nodded.

"I've never thought that James was so... noble," he admitted.

"Like his father and mother," Dumbledore's smile disappeared. "They were just too good... and totally selfless, and they have died in defence of others. All of them. But that is another story. As you know, when Quietus had died Lily already knew that she was with your brother's child. It happened just two days after his death that you saved her."

"Was it just two days? For me it seemed much more..." muttered Snape. "Well, you might be right. When I saved her she didn't know yet... I told it to her... but she was present in the funeral."

"Yes. After the funeral, she spent a lot of time at Quietus's grave. It was one of these occasions when I found her and talked to her. It was winter and she was half-frozen because she was sitting there for long hours after she had noticed that you had never visited the tomb. She was very relieved, because she didn't want to meet you. I dragged her to my office and then she told me that she was pregnant with your brother's child. She was extremely despaired. They weren't married and her lover had died. She was horrified by the idea of being humiliated and laughed at to bare a child unmarried... I think her main reason to keep her child, you, Harry, was that she had loved your father deeply and you were the only remainder of him."

For the first time since he had learned the truth, Harry felt an uncertain warm feeling in his chest. It was so... good and sad in the same time. 

'_Your father._' Dumbledore said so matter-of-factly and naturally that it moved something akin belonging inside him.

'_Your father._' '_She had loved your father._' Quietus, not James. Harry shut his eyes tightly. He felt the room whirling around him.

'_Your father._' His dead father. Why should all these things always happen to him? He had accepted this fact somehow, days before, when Severus and he had found out. But then, it had meant, mostly, that he and Severus had been relatives. He liked the idea of being related to Severus, but he somehow couldn't realise the thought of Quietus being his father. It seemed so unbelievable. So distant. But Dumbledore's natural words hit him in heart. So it was sure. Quietus. The man he had never heard about before.

"She forbade you to tell me the truth, didn't she?" Snape suddenly seemed horribly tired. "She thought that I hated Quietus... because I never visited his grave..."

"Perhaps it was a part of her reason, I don't know, she'd never mentioned this fact."

"Then what was her problem with me?" sighed the Potions Master.

"She knew that you were a Death Eater. Quietus told her. And she didn't believe me when I insisted that you changed sides. She saw you killing three kids and she was terrified of you. She said she didn't want you to have any influences on Harry. She was afraid that you would drive him to the Dark Side or force him to join Voldemort."

"I'd never have forced him even if I still were a Death Eater!" Snape turned livid. "I've never tried to force Quietus either. Never!"

"I know, Severus. She, however, was suspicious. And I think she was afraid of your family too..."

"No wonder..." muttered the professor darkly. "But you, Albus, after her death you could tell me..."

"You were in Azkaban, Severus. On the other hand, I couldn't break my oath. I didn't want Harry to grow up too spoiled either..."

It was at this moment that the two adults noticed that something was wrong with Harry. He didn't participate in their conversation, just sat silently on the sofa, his face pale, his eyes closed and tears were running down his face.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Snape asked worriedly.

Harry was fighting with his tears and hiccups to answer.

"It's so terrible... I've never seen him... I've never known about him. I don't look like him either. And he is my father who died before my birth," he shook his head. "And you are talking about him so... naturally as... as..." he was really angry with himself for showing weakness, but he was simply unable to finish the sentence. His tears were suffocating him, and he bit his lips not to cry aloud.

Snape suddenly stood up.

"Just one moment," he said and left the room. Fortunately, Dumbledore didn't say a word and Harry managed to calm down a little bit by the time Snape returned with a box in his hand. He sat back next to the boy and put it into his lap.

Harry lifted his eyes quizzically.

"Photos..." Severus sighed.

There was total silence when Harry opened the box with trembling hands. Photos again, just photos, nothing else. He had MANY photos... but he had no LIVING parents. Just images and memories. And now, again a memory to add to the others...

By the end of his life, he would have plenty of photo albums full of pictures of men and women he'd never known, he thought sarcastically.

Then he saw _him_. _He_ was standing next to Severus: a handsome, tall boy, though not as tall as his older brother. He really looked like the Potions Master except for the eternal-like sneer. He was just standing and smiling shyly, but his eyes were glittering like Dumbledore's, twinkles were dancing in them and... yes. Power surrounded him, undeniable power, like the Headmaster's. The only difference was that Dumbledore's power wasn't obvious just in extraordinary cases like two months ago when he stunned Barty Croutch. His father, on the other hand, wasn't angry or excited in any way. He seemed calm and well-balanced, and really _shy_, but he radiated that power nonetheless.

Harry suddenly wondered if he was the only one who had noticed this feature of his. Without lifting his gaze from the picture he asked softly.

"Did he seem always so powerful?"

He could hear Snape's gasp from his side and Dumbledore's gulp from the chair.

"What do you mean?" asked Severus in the same time as Dumbledore said—

"He not only seemed powerful, Harry. He was. He was... perhaps even stronger than me."

Snape's jaw fell hearing the soft remark, but Harry refused to look up. He took another photo instead. Severus and Quietus again. Laughing together on the bank of the lake, in the background he could see the Hogwarts castle. Severus surely missed to notice that somebody was taking the photo... In that picture they really looked like twins.

Then another one: Quietus and an unfamiliar man standing face to face, their wands in hand: the traditional fencing posture. As Harry looked at them they lowered their wands and smiled and waved at him.

The man somehow seemed familiar. Some of his features...

"Harold Potter," he heard Snape's word. "I don't know where this picture was taken. I've found it among Quietus's things after his death... like many of these photos."

After some moments of silence, Dumbledore looked at the two figures sitting in front of him.

"I think it's time to have a light dinner," he said and with a graceful flick of his wand he ordered the meal, which appeared on the coffee table next to the tea-set. The Headmaster refilled it too, and took a cup of hot tea in his hand.

Harry didn't feel hungry, so he remained still and went on contemplating over the pictures, Snape, however, leaned forward and took a plate in his hand. When he noticed that Harry didn't move, he gave the plate to the boy.

"You must eat something, Harry."

"I'm not hungry," Harry shrugged eyeing another picture. James and Harold Potter, Lily Evans and Quietus were sitting around a large, mahogany table having meal. It was so obvious... His mother and Quietus next to each other, James was facing them, smiling in a strange way. Sadly? Harry sighed. In the meantime he could hear Snape's grumbling.

"I didn't ask if you're hungry or not. You must eat even if it's just a little bit. If you want to heal perfectly you need energy. You must eat."

"All right," Harry surrendered still looking at the photo. He put the plate on his lap and began to nibble while he took another picture. "I hate magical photos..." he muttered after a while. "You almost believe that the figures in it are still living: they look at you, they wave at you, as if they still could feel, could love... but they can not. They don't know what you feel, what you are longing for. They are dead. They just pretend to exist, to be alive. And when you put them down you are alone again..."

Severus, with a sudden decision, took the plate from Harry's lap and knelt in front of him so that their heads were on the same level. Harry lifted his gaze and their eyes locked.

"Harry... it's just too late to ponder about these things. Yes, they are dead and yes, their photos won't be able to love you. They are just pictures, memories of the past. But you are not alone. Of course, you are not! Remember what I promised to you? Do you remember?"

"Yes, Severus," they boy's voice was barely above a whisper. "You said that you will be a family for me..."

"...and I was bloody serious about it, and still I am," Severus added clearly as if he spoke to a little child.

"But it was THEN... In the captivity. None of us believed seriously that we would survive it..."

"Does it matter? As I told you I thought it seriously. Even now. The only question is what your decision is."

Harry couldn't answer. He was just sitting face to face to Severus, his eyes widened in disbelief.

"Why, Harry?" Snape shook his head desperately. "What must I do to convince you that I REALLY want you around me, that I'm offering it not only for your, but for my own good too. It's not my favour to you, it's not a burden, not an obligation. I'd like it. Can you understand?"

"But you don't need... just because I'm your brother's son..." Harry whispered weakly.

"NO!" Severus cried out in impatience. He seemed extremely angry. "Did you pay any attention at all, or are you that daft boy I've always imagined you to be? It's not about Quietus. If I remember correctly I offered this to you days before we learned that my brother is your father."

"Yes, but I thought..."

"You thought that wrong," he sighed. "I swear it's much more simple to convince a reluctant girl than you..." he smiled but after that he turned serious again. "So, what do you answer? Do you want to live with me?"

Harry unable to say a word just nodded.

"Finally," he stood up with difficulty and sat down next to him. "Sometimes I'm sure you're really a little bit idiot..." he nudged Harry who smiled shyly in return.

"Perhaps you're right..."

"Gentlemen, as I see there will be no serious problems with my plan," Dumbledore spoke up. The two glanced at him nervously.

"What kind of plan, Albus?" Snape was definitely suspicious.

"A plan to protect Harry. Whose part was his funeral too."

Snape didn't react just sat staring at him intently. Then he said slowly.

"I think I understand you now, Albus..."

"But I don't understand," Harry said annoyed. "What's this stuff about my death? And how you, Headmaster, could make them believe that it was me who was buried?"

It was not the Headmaster who answered Harry's question.

"Voldemort now thinks that you are dead. He is not after you any more. I think that was your purpose, Albus? You didn't tell me the truth to play my role perfectly in the funeral in front of the wizarding community, including the monster's followers?"

"Yes, Severus," nodded Dumbledore in agreement. "I don't think you could have played the broken and grieving man you had to play if I'd told you the truth. You are just too proud to do it. And your pride would have endangered Harry's safety."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"They saw us together, Harry," Snape explained in thought. "They'd never believed that I could remain the usual cold-hearted bastard in YOUR funeral after all the things we went through together. And I think, Albus is right. I couldn't humble myself in front of those idiots by showing weakness if I had known the truth... But it was so hard..."

"And the body?" Harry was really curious. "You said that the Ministry had examined my... er... corpse before they had given the permission for the funeral."

"Oh, Harry, it's an interesting question. First of all because I needed Harry Potter's corpse and not yours to cheat the Ministry."

"What?" Harry blinked in confusion.

"When the Ministry examines a corpse, they throw several Identifier Spells on it which show the parentage of the dead person. In your case the spells would have shown that the person was Lily Evans's and Quietus Snape's son. And I didn't want the Ministry to know about this parentage fact or they could even think that you, Harry POTTER, were still alive, so I transformed two hairs into your body: a hair of your mother and a hair of James Potter. It was a quite difficult transformation nevertheless. But I did it!" he smiled mischievously.

"But why did you want to cheat the Ministry?" Harry asked still confused.

"They were after you like Voldemort was. They wanted to make you responsible for Cedric's death at first, but later Fudge and his team cooked up that you were about to become the next Dark Lord or at least Voldemort's ally for you helped him to regain his power again... I don't know precisely but I have my ideas about their plans." The Headmaster's smile disappeared.

"They wanted to get rid of you, Albus, didn't they? Lucius again, if I'm not mistaken," Snape sneered. "As always."

"I don't understand what you're talking about," Harry commented dryly.

"The usual. Albus' faults: Quirrel, Hagrid the half giant, Lupin the werewolf, Crouch the Death Eater, me as another Death Eater, you as the next Dark Lord, all of us as Dumbledore's trusted people... let's inform the wizarding community all of these  'faults' and they will lose their faith in Dumbledore and they will demand him to resign as soon as possible. Right?"

"Exactly. Fudge is under Lucius Malfoy's influence who wants to become the Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"But... it would be a disaster!" Harry cried horrified.

"Yes, it would," nodded Dumbledore. "And on the other hand, if I let them know, that you were alive, they would have questioned you in the Ministry and after Severus..." Dumbledore suddenly interrupted himself, but Severus waved dismissively.

"I've already told him about the Ministry's ways of investigations and about my testimony to you too. So you can go on."

"Well... let me put this way: I didn't want to give you to them to investigate your case. And if they ever find out that you are still alive..."

Harry paled.

"That means... means that I can't be myself any more..." he muttered. "Voldemort wants to kill me, the Ministry wants to torture me..." he lowered his head and buried his face in his palms. "I have to go in hiding or I have to disguise myself..." Then he added quietly, "Why should I survive at all? I just want a normal life without fear and menace, I don't want to hide, or something like that..."

Snape put his hand to Harry's shoulder.

"Harry, Harry, calm down. I'm sure the Headmaster is up to something. You'll listen to his idea, and after that we'll decide together what to do, all right?"

Harry sighed and nodded, but didn't lift his head.

"So, Albus?" Snape turned to the old man and cast an expectant look at him.

"I've already done some preparations, Severus. If you accept Harry into your family, James' spell will be broken and he will look like he would have been without his adoption."

"You mean that I'll look like my father?" Harry gulped.

"Not like your father. Like the son of your mother and father. But you won't certainly look like James anymore. And after that, you can be enrolled in Hogwarts as Severus's son."

"WHAT?" the Potions Master bellowed. "Why can't he be simply Quietus's son?"

"It would be too suspicious. There are some people who know about Quietus's and Lily's relationship. Almost every member of the staff knows Trelawney's prediction about him. It was a wander that nobody suspected the truth about Harry's true parentage. And now, I really don't want anybody to ponder on these facts. Only we know the truth. We, the three of us. Nobody else. And I don't want anybody else to learn it."

"But... but... what about Ron and Hermione...?" Harry stuttered. "They are my friends. They have to know!"

"Harry, I know that it sounds ruthless what I'm talking about, but you can't tell them. It would be all too dangerous for everybody."

"But, Headmaster..."

"Harry. This is not a joke anymore. In reality, it never was a joke, but now, it became a war. A WAR. Do you understand, Harry? Such a knowledge would endanger them seriously. They can slip the secret accidentally to their friends, family members, or in a rough situation they could use it against you or Severus... Not to mention the fact that they surely would talk about it between themselves... The mere fact that you are friends would be extremely suspicious. You know, Harry, it's not even impossible that they will be questioned about you and your death by the Ministry or by Voldemort just because they were your friends..."

"Oh, my God... I've never thought about that..." whispered Harry. "But it means that I have to begin everything over again."

"You can befriend them again," Snape said encouragingly.

"Yes, as YOUR son Ron surely will be happy to be befriended with me..." snapped Harry. "He has too many prejudices to do that. I'll lose him... Headmaster, isn't there any other possibility?"

"We could disguise him... the glamourie..." Snape said reluctantly.

"The Aurors will throw the Revelo first when they come to do investigations amongst the students and it will blow up his façade. Otherwise, Harry's disguise isn't as important as the fact that we should keep secret that he is alive. And I think the safest way to disguise him is to pretend that he is your son."

Harry drew his knees up to his chest. He embraced his legs and leaned his head on his knees. What was he supposed to do now? He didn't want to lose his friend but he could understand the Headmaster's points about keeping it in secret. An unguarded word, a wrong address ("Harry!"), a slight reference to common adventures and he would be revealed, and let's go to the Ministry's dungeons where he would be treated as the next Dark Lord... tortures again... no. Perhaps he was selfish, but he didn't want to be tortured again. Never, possibly. And he didn't want his friends to be tortured either. And he and Snape would have to be VERY cautious not to endanger Dumbledore. Snape would surely manage it. He was a spy for years, and he had learned how to do it. But what about him? He had to change his behaviour, his habits... He could not play Quidditch, he was just too good to risk it.

He had to talk to Snape about these things. He would help him. Snape. Harry suddenly became excited.

"Severus, would you mind it?" he turned to Snape who smiled.

"What? To pretend that I'm your father?" he asked. When Harry nodded his smile faded a little. "It's the last time I tell you, so you have to pay attention, Mr.. er... Harry. I'd like that. I'd be happy about it because it would give me the chance to spend more time with you. So," he nodded at the Headmaster, "I think we are ready."

"Harry? What do you decide? Do you want to be a family member of the Snape family?"

Harry inhaled deeply before he nodded.

"Yes, I do," he said finally as firmly as he could.

"Well, then. Severus, put your hand on his shoulder and take him into your family with your own words. It's a simple magic, you don't need wand or spell to perform it, it's your intent only that matters."

Snape nodded and put his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I'm ready to receive him back into the Snape family. I receive him as Quietus's son but I will take care of him as my own son." He smiled at the boy. "Is it all right for you, Albus?"

"It's perfect. He will need a new name too, Severus." 

"Yes, I know. I think that... he could be called after his father. If it's suitable for him. What do you think, Harry?"

"That... my name would be the same as your brother?"

"Quietus Snape," the Potions Master said and he could feel his throat tightening by the emerging feeling. His eyes met Harry's. "I think your mother would agree with me..."

The time seemed to stop.

"Quietus Snape..." whispered Harry. He felt the distance again. But now, he decided to try to lessen it somehow. He will learn how to feel about it. "It will be fine," he nodded in consent.

Dumbledore stood up. 

"Very well. I think it's getting late. I leave you to have a rest. I think, Mr Potter will be Mr Snape for tomorrow morning. If he can accept it, that is. The other things will be arranged in the following weeks. I think you can spend these weeks in Snape Manor to become accustomed to the new situation. Next week I will visit you there and we can discuss the emerged questions. Is that all right for you?"

"Yes, Albus. And... thank you."

"You are welcome, my friend. Good night Severus, Quietus."

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Harry was lying on his stomach on the sofa, but he wasn't able to sleep. He simply was too afraid in the darkness, and his dreams were full of the previous days' events. Mostly those events in Nightmare Manor. He felt terribly alone in the dark dungeons, it was even worse than Dumbledore's room.

And when he thought of the future... he felt as if he was looking into a bottomless abyss: he was dizzy and frightened.

No. He didn't want this brand-new life. He wanted the old one back with the Dursleys, but with his friends too... But that was impossible, he knew perfectly well. He buried his head into the pillow. He was alone.

He didn't know how long he was crying before he felt a hand on his back.

"Harry... what's wrong?" Severus's voice sounded worried.

"I... I can't sleep," mumbled Harry through the pillow.

The man just crouched down at the sofa's side in thought. 

"Could you sleep last night?"

Harry didn't answer just shook his head.

"I suspected..." he sighed tiredly. "Neither could I. Have you got nightmares too?"

Harry nodded in silence.

"I might have known..."

He stoop up and left the room. He returned after a moment with a vial in his hand.

"I think it would be better if you spent the night with me," he said finally. "Come on, Harry."

Harry muttered something into the pillow but he didn't move.

"Harry...?"

"I don't want to disturb you."

Snape opened his mouth for a sharp remark, but he succeeded to swallow it before escaping. Instead he lifted Harry with his blanket and pillow into his arms, and brought him in his bedroom. Fortunately, the boy was very light - the two weeks without meal left their traces on both of them. He lowered him on the bed, he took Quietus' wand and waved towards the fireplace to stir up the fire and set light to two torches.

"There won't be dark, okay?" he took the vial and handed to Harry. "Drink this. Dreamless Sleep Potion. You can't use it regularly because it doesn't give you natural sleep and causes dependence. But this time..."

"I don't need it, Severus. It's okay. I just... felt alone and... it was just too... dark and sometimes I feel as if I'm still in Nightmare Manor and all this is just a dream and when I'll wake up and they will came to bring us to torture..." Harry trembled.

"It's just two days that we got out of there... It's no wonder that you didn't get through it yet. It will take some time. For me too."

"And all these other things. You know it's just so... horrible. I'm afraid of the future and I'm horrified by the past. I'd just like to live as the other kids live. But no. I'm always different. And I hate it."

Severus sighed and embraced the crying teen.

"Harry... Everything will be all right. Believe me. We were together in a much worse situation than this, and we survived it. Now, we are free and nobody wants to hurt us. We can handle it, I'm sure. Never forget: you are not alone in this situation. I'll help you, I promise. But now, I think you need to have a rest. You haven't slept for two days or more. Drink the potion, and sleep well. I'll be here," he rubbed Harry's back calmingly. "I'll be here."

"No, I don't need that potion" Harry shook his head, yawned and curled at Severus's side. "I feel better. As you talk to me... like a... father..." he smiled. "You know, I'm happy about the Headmaster's plan. I like the idea of you being my father," he mumbled with closed eyes, still smiling.

The Potions Master grinned so madly that he was really grateful that nobody saw him. Harry's words warmed him more than anything before. He felt extremely happy, however, he didn't know why... Perhaps those psychological facts, he smiled widely. It must be them. But who cared? Perhaps he didn't miss having a family, having a son once and for all... Perhaps he was finally forgiven and really got a second chance to live a normal-like life. As normal as in these days could be...

"I like the idea of you being my son," he whispered into Harry's ears, who opened his eyes and smiled.

"Good night, Severus," he winked and shut his eyes.

"Good night, Harry."

"Quietus, don't forget," the boy mumbled into the pillow.

"All right then. Goodnight Quietus."

Snape stayed awake until Harry fell asleep.

It wouldn't be easy for either of them. He didn't tell Harry, but he himself was haunted by similar nightmares when he heard the boy crying in the sitting room.

Blood... tortures... pain... but now, they were free of them. And he wouldn't let those memories to destroy their lives. They would be free not only physically, but emotionally too, he swore to himself.

And once... they would fight Voldemort and they would defeat him.

He tightened his embrace around the sleeping boy and fell asleep. The next days were going to be hard for both of them.

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THE END

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The title of the sequel is: Coming off the ropes, the third, and last part of the trilogy is Through the Walls.

Are these fics are finished. You can find them in my library here as well as at my yahoo.group.

Please, if you can give me a review in the end of every story – so even now! I'm very curious of your opinion.

Thank you!

Enahma


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